Alongside my godmother and father, my mother taught my brother and me the discipline and hard work ethic that drove us to pursue our own dreams, without tightening nooses around our necks to study or completely secluding us from outside friendships. There were fights about grades and tests, but there were also fights about car privileges and party rights. My mother spearheaded the path I have taken, but she is by no means part of the club that most Asian American women are forced into as a result of the “tiger mom” narrative.
No one pays attention to the group of dancers gathered in the rafters at first, until four members of diSiac Dance Company vault through the aisles of the Berlind Theater pumping their arms to Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow.”
The two scenes are almost identical: both take place in the aftertaste of slam poetry, surrounded by smoky blacklight and boxed-in-bodies trembling to the rhythm of words, sounds, memories, and feelings.
“I didn’t want to get into anything, I didn’t want to start any trouble. For a while I was content to be quiet, get my degree, and get out.” — William Pugh, ’20