Living Hyphen’s theme for Issue 2 is a big one. It is ambitious. It is delicate. It is all-encompassing.

Across Generations aims to uncover the stories of our ancestors, of our lineage, of the blood that courses through our veins. And how that all influences our present day.

Not exactly light, is it?

It’s no wonder then that we’ve had to extend our deadline twice since announcing our call for submissions back in October. We’ve received an overwhelming amount of emails from those in our community requesting for more time. We’ve received so many notes expressing the difficulty in capturing a theme so big, a theme that touches not just our own personal, individual stories (which is hard enough in itself) but also those of so many others who have come before us.

I understand that on a very real level. I myself have been trying to write this blog for months now and have spent countless hours in front of my laptop trying to find the words to even begin.

Across Generations, as all things Living Hyphen, comes from a deeply personal place for me. But this theme cuts to my very core. Why? How? Let me count the ways…

Yesterday our work at Living Hyphen was featured on the latest episode of Dual Citizen — a mini documentary series exploring eureka moments within the Filipino diaspora. Through conversations with community leaders, artists, entrepreneurs, educators, and culture changers, Dual Citizen examines the power that comes from embracing dual identities — and how this translates to our respective creative and community work.

There is one part to this episode that I want to address directly because it has not been sitting right with me. When Dual Citizen asks me about the most surprising story that’s in our magazine, I talked about one of the submissions from a man of Plains Cree and Métis descent who described his experience of living in between cultures despite being Indigenous to this land. I said, “For him, being an Indigenous person here in Canada has almost felt like a diasporic experience because of the displacement that [the Indigenous community] has felt.”

I cringe when I hear myself say that. I cringe at this segment of the episode because I feel that my words downplay the experiences of Indigenous nations against violent colonial forces. So let me be clear now. It is not merely a displacement that “they felt”. It is not simply a felt experience, but an intentional, systematic, and violent destruction and theft of their peoples, cultures, and land.

Living Hyphen is celebrating its one year anniversary this month and I wanted to take a breath and take stock of all the incredible moves we’ve made this year.

To be perfectly honest, it feels uncomfortable writing this piece. It feels uncomfortable to list and elaborate on all the achievements and successes we’ve had, however big or small. It feels unnatural and unbecoming. It feels premature when there is still so much we can do.

But I’m doing it anyway.

Because in a world where there is always something more to chase, more to achieve, more to give, it is important that we pause and recognize our efforts.

Because in a world that downplays, ignores, and erases the contributions of those from marginalized communities, this seemingly simple act of speaking our accomplishments out loud is actually an integral and powerful act of resistance.

Everyone who’s come across Living Hyphen has been so wonderfully supportive and has shown so much belief in me and this publication. But the one question that almost always inevitably comes up is this — why print?

“Print is expensive,” folks warn me. It absolutely is. I will tell you right now that the margins are terrible (another blog post for another day). And that’s been a hard pill to swallow.

“There are so many more possibilities online,” they urge. There absolutely are. “And you could reach so many more people.” I absolutely would.