Dear Grandma, it’s Asian American Pacific Islander Month

I had an ancestor reach out to me in my dream again last week. It was Nien Nien, my paternal grandmother. She couldn’t wait to tell me because it was the day I came back from working the festival. It would be her 95th birthday this year and maybe it was her time to reach through to tell me. It was a message about breaking our generational pain.

I’ve come to realize through that dream that I don’t have to carry that burden any further. It has caused too much strain on my ancestors and I have the power to end it. I wont have to suffer in silence like she did.

When I think about being an AAPI, I can’t help but have polarizing views of who I am. This love hate of my culture and upbringing and I’ve come to realize that its okay for myself to allow each and every one of these feelings to arise and embrace them for what it is and how it shapes me. I’m a walking contradiction. I love the rich cultures of spiritual rituals during Ching Ming Festival and honoring our ancestors, or the flush red dragon dances, fireworks and red envelopes during Lunar New Years, but I also despise the fact that women are overlooked, told to be soft spoken, treated like a child, and to be quite honest, how rude people can be.

I used to be ashamed and hid my immigrant upbringing. How it was both fun but also a childhood of frugality and even fear. Now I understand that I can’t reject my childhood because that’s who I really am, and I’ve grown to realize that its made me more thankful for what I have now. I wasn’t fed the silver spoon, but I’m more determined to attain my own silverware at a table I carved a space for myself- and that is what makes my meal more savory.

I remember being raised at my grandparents house while my parents worked tirelessly and those times with them were beautifully bliss. I enjoyed the adventures of taking the bus around Monterey Park, keeping an eye out for the bus arrival, having my ticket ready at hand like a grown up, while holding the other hand of my grandmother. Fun were the times when me, my grandmother and my brothers would spend hours on a daily going to the nearby McDonalds to the point where we befriended the staff and filled our bellies with Oreo McFlurries. I never realized why my grandmother would have to break my favorite cough candy into smaller sizes until I understood the wisdom of savoring little things at a time. Eating durian and watermelon with yummy excitement, watching vintage Cantonese drama with my grandma and sitting next to grandpa on a staircase while he daydreamed and stared out the opened door. I always asked him what he was staring at, but I totally get why he does that now.

These were adventures and warm memories that I think of often and try to hold back tears whenever I do. Life was simpler as a child, I took everything as is and enjoyed it.

When I grew into my teens, I had moved away and when ever I came back to my grandparents house, I was more aware of the life they lived and how different it was from the suburban neighborhood that my parents uprooted us to. It was then, when I had felt remorse with their lifestyle without realizing now the sacrifice it took them to pull themselves out of Myanmar and survive in Los Angeles. I didn’t know that there was a family owned jewelry store in LA Chinatown who had sponsored my grandparents, until I made the connection when I became an ambassador to the community in 2014. Full circle moments that I can’t help but believe that these experiences must be heaven sent.

See…I can’t really talk about AAPI without talking about my grandparents and upbringing. It is me, it is who I am and it is what fuels my love for creative storytelling.

Thank you for carrying our stories Nien Nien and Yie Yie. 🙏🙏🙏🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

The Asian in Film

I think being an Asian in film or any art related field takes a behemoth amount of courage. Because it is constantly resisting the traditions of what success means, and always receiving judgement from everyone who thinks they know whats best. All in the while keeping faith and staying committed to the craft.

It’s being called unconventional and selfish for foregoing the high paying 9-5, raising a family or the white picket fence -even though I see the generational benefits to the community of investing into these rich stories that resonate and represent while living by my means. It is delusion in its purest form and for a culture that can be stubbornly logical and based on success, I feel like an outcast …but I insanely love being the rebel.

One that only eyes of artist can see and understand. The meaning hidden behind my meaning. I used to believe I could create art in hopes that the community or people in my circle would someday have a change of heart with their views of an artist.

What a tiresome and massive overtaking.

I think part of the secret in this journey is allowing others to assume obnoxiously incompetent things about me (because Psst…I’m building sacred dreams). The people around me didn’t earn the trust to receive, so why even bother. I’ve made the mistake of exposing my dreams only to be called a disgraceful embarrassment or one-upped by someone’s upgraded luxury. Perhaps why there’s loneliness around me. Because you have to be delusional enough to believe, and resilient enough to stay on the calling as an artist. I am here, because the craft in me burns even with all of the sticks and stones casted.

I’m healing from the bruises and learning. Observing more than speaking, feeling out every environment to test the safe space. Knowing that the safe space gets ever so smaller the higher you climb. Trusting my intuition to guide me. Believing in how they treat me so I can stay away. This year I’ve been much better at keeping to myself, and at times felt more comfortable being alone.

So, to all of those who threw stones at me, I tip my hat and thank you. It has provided me another stepping stone higher to where I’m called to go.

And for now, I must go… but you know where to find me.

You came here to find me, didn’t you? Secretly, I knew you would.

It’s been a 2024 . For some reason I did all of the rituals and neurotic Chinese New Year traditions this year because I’d like to receive all the luck I could get!

I feel like this year, is the year I tune everyone out and zone in on me. It sounds self serving to me, but after years of over serving others, I was able to stand firm for myself, which lead to people reacting shockingly to this new stance. All of the times I just went too much into the flow, and didn’t have an opinion, I lost myself fulfilling other people’s wants and demands.

Time is still ticking and then I realize, I can’t keep letting myself down because its so much easier to please others. I understand the creative isolation we artists feel because we’re a bit different. Unhinged even. While the rest of society is climbing the social ladder, I’m out here creating. I really believe that only certain people understand. This is also the period of time where I’m not quite the same person in the past, and still becoming the person to reach my greatest potential.

That period of loneliness of letting go old friends, people, and even family because I just don’t have the darn time and energy to re-explain. I remember trying so hard to prove to the community and or leaders that I was more than just a pretty face. A breaking/burnout point is always needed so I can just let go and refocus on myself. Let my own craft speak for itself.

My energy has drastically changed. As much as I grow fond of my extroverted ways, I’ve learned to conserve my energy. Its limited now, and I need to save it for creating. Its friggin precious.

I’m listening a lot more to my body now. Having the privilege of taking rest and baking in the sun, looking to the skies and talking to God. Connecting with humming birds and squirrels-yes. Feeling at peace when I see butterflies and free birds. I like to fantasize a great deal, its fun. Then I snap back to reality to know the difference. Im often scared to sleep, because my mind keeps running and things visit me at night whether I like it or not. So when its a good dream (which isn’t often), I keep hold to it. I savor it. I write it…cling on.

The Hero

I get why there are so many stories of children desperately wanting to escape their current world. And actually… it still happens as adults. Some circumstance we’re in and wishing we can be like Harry and fly away or Alice and disappear into an enchantingly eery place. Meanwhile, yearning to be at any place than the present air we breathe and reaching with all of our might into another fantasy or multiverse. Because life gets hard and it can seem like we’re waiting or searching in other people for that super hero to swoop us off our feet and save us. 

But the lonely truth is, we can’t keep doing that. Even the person who loves us the most can never fill that void. Intentional loneliness to transform is also not a bad thing. And yes there are times for those who are spiritual to lean onto faith / God during hard times. Even then, that pinnical moment where we physically have to make that choice to lift ourselves from the floor is ultimately up to us. 

The super hero we’re draining so much energy looking for or expecting to be saved from is not there. We’re just building up that person for utter failure- over, and over and over… 

That’s because as cheesy as it may sound, the super hero is you. It may feel sad and lonely, but hugging that child and soothing yourself through gentle reparenting or finding the might to get out of that rut leads us away from dependency and into a glimmer of hope. Perhaps then, we can crawl into that next level of our potential. But hey, I’m right there with ya-bruised hands, knees, face marred in tears, dirt and all.

So why wait for the wrong hero when we had the power to do so all along? 

“You’ve always had the power my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself.” 

― The Wizard of Oz

Mahalo Nui Loa, Maui

Traveling to the top of Maui’s Mount Haleakala was an homage without me knowing it. I couldn’t wait to see the sunrise above the misty clouds. To catch a glimpse of something breathtaking and magical. That morning I woke up at 2AM in chills and sweats. I was feeling symptoms of covid and worried I couldn’t see Haleakala, but I pushed through. 

I thought we were early enough until we reached an elderly park ranger. Shock ran through me as the ranger said the tickets were for the day before but he let us through. He kindly said that there was still 20 minutes until we would catch sunrise. It was 4 in the morning and the navigation read it would take up exactly 20 minutes to get there when sunrise would start. 

It was a slim chance with time as we raced up the narrow and jagged mountain, but thankful that we had a chance nevertheless. 

Right when we stepped foot on the ground I rushed and squeezed my way in through an ocean of people just to grab a glimpse of the sunrise. Within seconds people started to clap and the sunrise began to peak. We made it within milliseconds. The hairlines of my body raised. It was cold, icy compared to the warmth down at shore. 

This is it, and it was the most breathtaking view ever. It was heavenly. The clouds were majestic and unreal against the mountain. Like a wispy river of clouds slowly swaying around, thick, lush- Holy. All of a sudden there were men singing a native Polonesian chant, and we were witnessing a beautiful ritual as the sun was rising and the clouds were making way for its presence. It was the most beautiful, natural, cultural, and spiritual experience I was in. As I tried to capture everything on my phone, I stopped and felt the urge to put my phone down and meditate in prayer. I wanted to open my eyes and take the environment in because I knew it was a special one- one I can revert to when I needed a visual to connect to that would bring me peace when I meditated. 

This place really gave me peace. I could have stayed there for hours. But the sun was fleeting and I wanted to physically capture its essence. To scan this magnificent view, to take it all in so I wont ever forget…

I saw the golden sun, and held my gaze on how the clouds drifted. I felt the cold wind caress my face and started to breathe into my meditation. I felt my body take in the icy air. I slowly exhaled, letting out some of my frustrations. As I locked my eyes with the sun, I slowly closed my eyes. I sat between the rail and folded my hands, and started to pray. I saw darkness but the sun still shined through even when my eyes were closed. The chatter around me was very distracting. I couldn’t really focus against the noise around me, but I tried to take it all in. 

I had asked God for 3 specific prayers: 

  1. My father’s life
  2. Meaning of love  
  3. My dreams as a filmmaker

I felt like I was talking to God on the top of Haleakala. It was a feeling as close to God through nature than ever before. Eyes opened as I took in one last view to engrain this moment into my psyche. How beautiful it was (I feel flashbacks just thinking about it). My hands were numb and rigid as I unlocked them and prepared to leave. I left feeling incredibly thankful for this homage that Maui has blessed me with. 

So many beautiful memories and deep meanings of aloha. Every time I enter the island, I feel this great energy that lifts my spirit. It tells me that all will be OK, and I feel the rush of peace. I have learned that it is the imprints of Aloha. So that every time I leave the island, I whisper Mahalo for its beauty, its healing aspects, and it’s spirit. 

My sympathy and prayers have been with Lahaina, and the people of Maui. I cannot fathom the grief, but can only learn as I stay attuned. Their people and spirit are hurting. I pray for healing, mental wellness, guidance, restoration and help to all those affected by the fire. 

Mahalo Nui Loa for the many beautiful memories that were created. I am dismayed that it has become of this.

Please consider giving: https://donorbox.org/mauimutualaid

Mount Haleakala -Katrina Lee – 2022

The world can be chaotic 

People can betray and let down

The guardian can poison 

Try to blow out my fire

When it gets chaotic

I run to my art

Find solace in releasing into my craft 

When all else fails

I can escape to my art

Take a leap of faith

Break into fantasy

It is the only constant 

Where I feel Alive 

Where my gifts thrive 

Magnetic forces empower me 

Great Ancestors move me

Still silent in the night 

Whispers to the moon 

Creatively crossing the threshold in my multiverse

 

Reality can suck

Fantasy has possibilities 

I can run into these feelings and express them in my art

When days seem hopeless, I pour into my craft 

The silver lining of hope that I can look towards

When I feel like I don’t belong

I can feel the warm embrace in my dreams

I’ve got a dream to achieve 

A hero’s journey to embark

A northern star to guide

And that’s a beautiful damn thing

 

Tired

I’ve taken a LONG break for myself. Because: 

I’m tired of taking on other people’s BS. I’m tired of saying yes. I’m tired of not speaking up. And ironically, sometimes I’m tired of over explaining myself. I’m tired of familial expectations. I’m tired of industry gatekeeping. I’m tired of people thinking I’m a quiet Asian. 

I’m tired of … I’m tired. 

So I started to draw boundaries. I started staying NO. I started letting people down so I can finally bring myself up to the table. I started telling people exactly how I feel. I started yelling back at those who said something. I became that loud, confrontational, talk- back- to- your- face Asian.  And somehow I feel like I became… the villain. But Hey…if this is what it takes to shake off years of self disappointment on the times when I didn’t do anything, then so be it. Isn’t this growth though? Learning and forgiving my past, so I can morph into a stronger ME. 

Funny enough, speaking up or yelling back to things gets really really draining. I’m now in that stage where I’m needing to pick or leave that battle. And if you don’t get it honey, at least I’ve said my peace. This very assertive stance that I hold now, comes from a lifelong pain and fury of not being able to stand up for myself when I couldn’t. 

All of those people who quite literally pushed me around, took advantage of me, called me a racial slur, questioned my abilities and masculinity- made me the very damn strong person I am today. It also means that I had to cry about it. Whole heartedly, probably multiple times, with real raw emotions in the corner of my bed, under a sea of tissue paper. 

This is why (personal plug) my latest obsession for film representation is BEEF with Steve Yuen and Ali Wong is fangirling all the way. My generational pain, meshed with surviving in America. I cried because I felt this series finally represented the crazy chaotic, psychotic rage that I feel and it was seamlessly written, shot and expressed. None of that stereotypical quiet submissive Asian BS. 

A breath of fresh air. SEEN. 

And just because I go silent here, doesn’t mean that I’m not moving. I’m heading to my healing and calling- even if that means resting.  This time with somewhat of a better balance. My mind isn’t in the gutters anymore, though it wanders. I’m not here to count numbers and likes because it gets draining too. I’m not fcking here for the algorithms.

I’m finally doing me, boo.

Thank You for the Visions.🙏 

I am still a newbie at this and I do feel and believe in the mental changes it does. I always asked Baba how to meditate. And somehow found a way to settle my thoughts for a brief moment. I’ve found a way through apps and online guided meditation, and even through my hybrid version of a prayer to Jesus through meditation and mindfulness. It’s an interesting dual approach, kind of like my Asian American upbringing. 

On consistent days where I really put an effort in mental health and meditation mindfulness, I’ve noticed a better shift in positive thinking. I feel more at peace, at ease, and able to let go of the petty things. To tell myself that I am not going to react like how I used to and trusting it is a powerful control. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my bad grumpy days. It’s part of the human experience isn’t it? Apparently we’re all really on the same boat. And I’m okay if you don’t like me…because my energy of love and care is very limited to those I give too. I’m not as afraid to share how I feel because Karma has its ways. 

Baba talks of how if you’ve reached a high meditative state, you can start seeing visions. I never thought I was there yet but I do feel that I was lucky enough to have crossed paths in that meditative dimension to do so. 

Last night I was fortunate to have my first vision while I was meditating.

I was praying for my usual list of people and concerns, then suddenly I saw Ye Ye and Nien Nien smiling with Pink and Green fully blossomed lotuses stamped like a trail around them, and then the goddess of mercy Guan Yin. I had a feeling that their presence was/is there, giving me good feelings at this particular house. Feelings of safety, peace, and happiness. I opened my eyes and felt so filled with emotions that I cried, because I miss grandpa and grandma. 

So thank you Ye Ye and Nien Nien for the visions, however you were able to reach me. 

🙏🙏🙏🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️💕💕💕

The P.A. in Chinatown

From Miss Chinatown in traditional qipao dresses, sashes and tiaras, I wasn’t quite sure how I got into the grit of production. Yet there I was walking through LA Chinatown’s Central Plaza with a different cap on, and my walkie blaring in my ear.

Production is love hate for me. I didn’t see myself as someone who had the strength to hold up in the tough production crew, but I sure acted like I did. The first time I was a Production Assistant (PA) on a professional feature was in the heart of L.A. Chinatown and I was so proud and nervous to start. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but 3 years later, I’m still in the realm of it all.

The reality is yeah, there are people who are full of BS and promise you the film world. There are people who have publicly humiliated me on set, and those who have lied about my pay. I feel like I’ve been eaten up, shat out and thrown under the bus. Unless you’re an A-Lister, there isn’t much protection and this toxic cycle just keeps repeating.

When I want something so bad, everything seems to shake the core. Thats why its hard to accept a booked job and really celebrate it because I know in a matter of seconds even when I’m on the actual set, it can all slip through my fingertips.

Even though its hard to see where this slippery road will take me, the outcome of the experience from meeting all of my film friends and creatives are the best. Its one of those things when I’m strung out tired and darn near over it, but the chats and laughs with my colleagues treading through the rain together keeps me sane.

I’ve found a place in the chaos with the creative misfits who somehow all interconnect in our ways in this crazy film journey. Despite the crappy pay and sometimes traumatizing experiences, I only wish the very best for us.

So why am I still here? I guess I am psychotic enough to persevere. I’m paying my dues, believe me I am. Im finding my way creatively, and watching you do it too. I pray someday I’ll be in that specific role I dream very much of.