#korean-American

[mcyt-rep]

RACE REPRESENTATION*

*note: this is technically ethnicity/race/nationality representation because i'm not sure about some things. please don't kill me I am one person

BDoubleO100/Bdubs (Assyrian)

Ironmouse/Mousey(?) (Puerto Rican-American)

Bigbstatz/Bigb (Black, unsure of ethnic group)

Tinakitten/Tina (Korean-American)

Etoiles (French-Algerian)

Jaiden Animations/Jaiden (Japanese-American)

Quackity (Mexican-American(?))

[swansongofalyre]

Cover Reveal + Preorder!

Don't look back.

Did Eurydice want to return from the underworld? Did anybody ask?

Weaving together Greek mythology, neuroscience, and memories inherited from her Korean grandparents, the narrator grapples with death by telling stories to her younger brother that ask what life means for him, for her, and for their family.

Recasting the myths of Eurydice, Orpheus, Persephone, and Hades through the lens of a Korean American family, Eunice Hong's debut novel explores the grief and love of a woman coming to terms with trauma, memory, and the inescapability of death.

Release Date: August 13, 2024

Preorder at Bookshop, Target, and Barnes & Noble, among other places!

[myfairynuffstuff]

Lee Andre - Galapagos and the Mockingbird. Charcoal on panel.

[lostinmac]

Riceboy Sleeps (2022)

Dir. Anthony Shim

[elgaberino-mcoc]

MCOC WISHLIST: TOP FIVE MOST-WANTED ASIAN / PACIFIC CHAMPS

Ranked by Summoners

014 Lady Deathstrike 017 Silver Samurai 023 Silk 031 Wenwu (The Mandarin) 041 Shatterstar*

Vote: http://tinyurl.com/mcocwishlist 

*denotes Asian casting of a non-Asian character

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

Winner of the Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry, Some Are Always Hungry chronicles a family’s wartime survival, immigration, and heirloom trauma through the lens of food, or the lack thereof. Through the vehicle of recipe, butchery, and dinner table poems, the collection negotiates the myriad ways diasporic communities comfort and name themselves in other nations, as well as the ways cuisine is inextricably linked to occupation, transmission, and survival. Dwelling on the personal as much as the historical, Some Are Always Hungry traces the lineage of the speaker’s place in history and diaspora through mythmaking and cooking, which is to say, conjuring.

Jihyun Yun, from Some Are Always Hungry; “Reversal”

[Text ID: “I so want to survive this. Please lead me whole into another season so I may dare begin again.”]

[thehorrormaven]

ARC Review: A Female Rage Bonanza Not for the Squeamish

The Eyes Are the Best Part by Monika Kim Release Date: June 25, 2024 Synopsis Feminist psychological horror about the making of a female serial killer from a Korean-American perspective. Ji-won’s life tumbles into disarray in the wake of her appa’s extramarital affair and subsequent departure. Her mother, distraught. Her younger sister, hurt and confused. Her college freshman grades, failing.…

[rickchung]

A Great Divide (dir. Jean Shim) x VAFF 2023.

[It] tells its all-American tale through generational immigrant sacrifice.[...] The script weaves in parallels of Korean history compared to contemporary issues of national division and distrust through the lens of pandemic trauma.

[introdcungkculture]

Recommended books written by Korean-American

A collection of novels on various topics written by Korean-Americans. [ Pachinko ] Go to book introduction The novel Pachinko is a novel written by Korean-American author Min Jin Lee and was celebrated in 2017. The novel begins the history of Korea and the immigration story of a Korean-American family, celebrating its society, memorials, and family fate. You will receive the history of Korea…

[swansongofalyre]

cover reveal 2: 2 cover 2 reveal (+ new website!)

like dionysus, my book cover is born again. now with 100% more korean-ness, to my mother's great excitement:

orpheus is upside down on the cover now, but he gets to stay right side up on the new website. I learned what a squarespace is and everything. if you are interested, you can use it to learn where to buy my book (basically anywhere, but I would love it if you considered your local bookstore), add it to storygraph/goodreads, and/or request it from your library. plus you can look at all of my weavings and jewelry, which have very little to do with the book but were fun to make.

thank you to my wonderful discord friends who gave me great feedback on how to website. I would love any feedback from you all as well!

MEMENTO MORI

Winner of the Red Hen Press Fiction Award

Did Eurydice want to return from the underworld? Did anybody ask?

In this astonishing work of “ferocious intellect and clarity,” debut author Eunice Hong weaves together Greek mythology, neuroscience, and the saga of a Korean family to create an “unexpected and thrilling story that features myth without being just a simple retelling.” Recasting the myths of Eurydice, Orpheus, Persephone, and Hades through the lens of a Korean American family, Memento Mori explores grief and love through a “beautifully written and impressively candid meditation on family secrets and the ties that bind.”

Out from Red Hen Press on August 13, 2024, but you can preorder now!

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[jimbotimes]

LIMITED-TIME ONLY: STEAL OUR K-TOWN IS OK SHIRTS AND OUR BRAND-NEW STICKER

LIMITED-TIME ONLY: STEAL OUR K-TOWN IS OK SHIRTS AND OUR BRAND-NEW STICKER ⬇️

We announce a special bargain-rate for K-Town Is OK, our shirt in collaboration with Helen Kim, along with a new sticker for Los Cuentos!We also remind listeners of our IG Live with L.A. City Council Member taking place Thursday, February 16th at 7 PM. For more of these updates and then some, please follow the show on Apple or Spotify, then rate and review us!And if you’d like to tune into the…

[komsomolka]

this is exactly what i meant under yankee fragility.

[ami-ven]

Happy National Korean-American Day!

[firebatvillain]

Just was thinking about this again tonight 😔

I.

When I was a kid, my aunt S (related to me via marriage - she married my uncle D) had always seemed kind of weird from my point of view. S is very traditional and she moved here from Korea as an adult and doesn’t speak great English.

She also was very awkward in our like, Korean-diaspora culture events due to her traditional upbringing, and would often retreat to the kitchen rather than eat with us whenever we were at her place. It took years of trying to get her to come out and sit with us to bear fruit, and get her to awkwardly join us when there were events at her house.

Conversations with her were often painfully awkward because she couldn’t relate to anyone in our generation, and actually couldn’t relate to anyone in her generation in our family either, as they had all moved here at a young age. On top of that, Uncle D had a job that involved a lot of travel, and Aunt S seemed very lonely, especially as her kids grew up.

Once Uncle D retired and started spending all his time with her, she seemed a little happier, but I still think of her life as really really lonely and without anyone who understood her, even her own children.

II.

I know that it was an arranged courtship between the two of them, but I never got the details.

Recently, at a family event, Aunt S and I were chatting, doing the usual awkward pleasantry exchange. I mentioned that I was single and trying to date, and she decided to give me some romantic advice, from the older generation to the younger one! So now I’m getting romantic advice from a 60 year old Korean woman who moved here as an adult, has no real engagement with American culture, and whose experience of dating is an arranged courtship. Oh boy.

Her advice was to “trust in God” and that eventually I’d find the person that I’m meant to be with. Uh, not very actionable.

I think my disappointment with her advice must have shown, because she decided to share the story of her first date with Uncle D. They had been introduced by family members, then went on a date. At the end of it, D was so enamored with her that he proposed to her on the spot. She responded by laughing in his face! But she liked him, and they eventually did end up marrying after meeting a couple more times.

III.

This was meant to be a funny story, but then she went on to say that when she met him, she’d been planning to move from Korea to Vancouver, Canada to pursue a PhD at UBC. Her aunt (a spinster) lived there and they had a good relationship on her occasional visits. Her aunt had prepared a room for S, and S was looking forward to moving to North America, living with her aunt and pursuing her dreams.

After getting engaged to my uncle, S set her dreams aside. She abandoned her ambitions for higher education and living with her aunt. Instead, she married my uncle, became a housewife, had two kids, never had a job or got another degree. She spent the next few decades being alone in a society she never really understood, with no close friends other than her husband. And even her husband often had business trips and never had time to love her or help with their kids, kids she couldn’t relate to, until he retired.

She told me this story, and I thought it was terribly sad.

[woman-respecter]

it’s also funny when people are like “nooo the feminism in korea is so evil and toxic, you can’t support that!” and it’s like ok who told you that? korean men?