HOW DID YOU COME TO POETRY? TELL US THE STORY OF YOUR BEGINNING WITH POETRY.

When I was a kid, there was so much I wanted to say, but couldn’t. Due to the racism of my town, the masculine values of my family, and a guilt-driven religion, self expression was a dangerous thing. Especially because my internal landscape was so foreign to those around me. Like many other writers, I retreated into books and thought “people can say these things?” I was completely taken by the imagination and the honesty of these writers, I felt like I discovered a new planet. So I obsessively began writing my own stories. I wanted to be a part of the conversation.

It actually took me quite a long time to start writing poetry. I always loved reading it, but I think I wrote my first poem in my creative writing class at community college. You can probably see in my earlier publications that my poems were very narrative, using a lot of words. I should probably have a more profound answer to this question, but in all honesty, I originally took to writing poems because it took less time than writing stories, which I realized later was absolutely not true. I mean, it took me four years to write “Self Portrait as Exit Signs.” That’s a lot more time than any story I’ve ever written.

IN BOTH “HOW GOD BREAKS” AND “EXIT SIGNS”, YOUR MOTHER’S GARDEN MAKES AN APPEARANCE. WAS THIS A CONSCIOUS DECISION? IF SO (OR EVEN IF NOT), CAN YOU UNPACK THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BOTH THE NATURAL WORLD AND ALSO THIS SPECIFIC GARDEN IN YOUR WORK?

I think the most obvious connection is the allusion to the garden of Eden, but I wanted to push the image beyond a biblical symbol. A garden can represent so much more than being a site for sin and rebirth. In “Self Portrait as Exit Signs” the garden is mentioned very literally. When I was a kid, each spring my mother and I would plant new things in her garden and it was a bit of a mystery why the plants would die so quickly. One spring, we decided to dig up the garden and we did, in fact, find a ton of bricks buried in the dirt. That realization, as cliche as it may sound, paralleled many things I was feeling at that age. I mean, how did we not think about digging beneath the surface much sooner?

IN “EXIT SIGNS”, YOU CHOOSE TO MENTION TUPAC SPECIFICALLY. WHEN — AND HOW — DO YOU DECIDE IN A POEM TO OPT FOR SPECIFIC REFERENCE AS OPPOSED TO GENERAL REFERENCE?

Art is always engaging with the culture it is born into. Through a personal lens, this engagement can be very empowering. It also opens a door for readers who may not share the same experiences as you, even if it’s as simple as “hey I listen to Tupac, too.” You’re not only creating a bridge between you and the person you are referencing, you are building a bridge between you and the reader. However, I do think there is a line that should be acknowledged. In “Exit Signs” I was worried about sounding as though I was claiming to be a part of a community that wasn’t mine, but I also wanted to pay homage to an artist that was incredibly transformative for me. I still don’t fully know where that line is, but I want to always make an attempt to be respectful of it.

IN “SELF PORTRAIT AS EXIT SIGNS”, YOU WRITE, “I HAVE HEARD THE CROWD DETERMINE THE DEFINITION OF MY SKIN AND STILL I WAS AFRAID…” HOW DO POEMS CREATE A UNIQUE SPACE FOR EXPLORING YOUR RACIAL IDENTITY AND STRUGGLES?

Poetry offers a certain liberation that I wasn’t able to access in other genres. That isn’t to say that the other genres failed me, but that I failed within those genres. Poetry, for me, acts as a constant ebb and flow. You can stand on the precipice of confession, and retreat back before exposing too much. Within this back-and-forth journey, there are always new things to discover. It’s like rereading a favorite poem, or rewatching your favorite movie. You’re not necessarily covering new ground, but finding newness in familiar ground and, in my experience, the discovery of my identity works in that way, too.

HOW DO YOUR POEMS WORK WITH GOD? DO YOU FEEL A LOSS OF FAITH BEHIND “HOW GOD BREAKS” AND “EXIT SIGNS”?

There’s definitely a loss of faith in organized religion. Specifically Catholicism. I turned away from that religion a long time ago. For those who were raised Catholic, you probably understand the fear that comes with leaving the church. You’re told your entire life that, if you have the knowledge of God and reject him, you will go to hell. That message is imbedded so early in your life that, even if you don’t believe it, there is an anxiety in rejecting God. The poems exist in that space. While the speaker doesn’t believe in God, they can’t help but ask for his permission to leave.

After leaving the church, I considered what that religion taught me: forgiveness, redemption, salvation. Perhaps it is important to uphold those ideas, but, for a person of color, those ideas can be very damaging. Are we supposed to forgive bigotry? Is there redemption for the hateful? Does salvation truly exist for the victimized? If so, what does that look like in this lifetime? These are questions I’m always asking myself.

WHAT DO EXIT SIGNS MEAN TO YOU?

When living becomes so difficult, everything becomes an opportunity to leave: The train howling before it reaches the station where you could walk onto the tracks, a breeze coming through a sixth story window, etc. When you have depression, these invitations are amplified in the mind. The signs become a religious experience because you begin to believe they are calling for you. What happens then, when you make a conscious decision to live? These signs don’t go away, but it’s important to know that they aren’t actions. We can even think about this grammatically. The verb “exit” now becomes an adjective. You’re taking the urgency out of the word. If you believe in the power of poetry, what it can do to the psyche, this seemingly minuscule decision can subconsciously help reroute your perception on life.

WHAT DOES YOUR WRITING PROCESS LOOK LIKE, FROM BLANK PAPER (OR DOCUMENT) TO FINAL DRAFT?

I write all my poems by hand before typing them. And then it’s months of second-guessing. Sometimes years of editing and rewrites. “How God Breaks” was originally a ten page poem and now just over half a page. Sometimes you outgrow a poem before it’s “finished.” And when a poem gets published, I have to resist forcing the poem into the present. What I mean is that the person I was when I wrote “Exit Signs” is so far from me now, I almost can’t remember why I wrote it. There’s an urge to update the content and the language so it can exist in my current timeline, but that would be disingenuous to the work. That being said, it’s difficult to see any poem of mine as a “final draft.”

YOU MENTIONED THAT YOU TEACH CREATIVE WRITING IN KOREA. CAN GOOD WRITING BE TAUGHT? HOW?

I don’t think good writing can be taught because what I think is good and what you think is good can be completely different. I believe being an educator brings with it traditional modes of feedback when it comes to form and structure, but mainly I see my role as one to guide students toward self expression. I think back to how I found literature and what it meant to me then and try to empower students with that feeling. It’s also important to understand that a teacher’s word isn’t law. We all have our own preferences and ways of looking at art. Feedback should be a mere suggestion. To tell a student “This poem isn’t good” means nothing, because who cares what I think? If I recognize that someone has that same urge to write, that same hunger to read and engage with art, I try to create a path for them. That’s all I feel I can do.

WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON RIGHT NOW?

After seven years of writing my manuscript, I finally submitted it and now I’m drained. If I have something to write, I’m sure I’ll write it, but for now I just want to read.

FINALLY, DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR YOUNG BIPOC WRITERS LOOKING TO INITIATE WRITING JOURNEYS OF THEIR OWN?

As much as we don’t want to admit it, art isn’t above industry. Literature is a content market and there are things that sell, and things that don’t. I’m not saying the entire industry operates in this way, but the work of BIPOC writers is often sold with their identities. For instance, a while ago my manuscript was rejected because it didn’t contain enough poems about “being Asian American.” I thought, what a ridiculous notion. Why can’t I write about my experiences without explicitly stating that I am Asian American in each one of my poems? At the time, I was discouraged because I understood then what the industry expects from me. Since then, I have been fortunate enough to be published in really fantastic journals with incredibly kind and supportive editors.

My advice to young BIPOC writers is stand by your convictions. Write the pieces you want to write, and share only what you are willing to share. Lastly, be hopelessly inquisitive about you and the world around you. There will be things you don’t know that you’ll discover on the page. No matter how triumphant or disappointing those realizations are, you had the courage to take those discoveries and turn them into art. That’s a beautiful thing.