My father was a bastard son of a Vietnamese war victim, and an American G.I. He got to the US because the American government granted those of American blood American citizenship. I was born on the East Coast once he settled with my mother, and through the war fracturing both of their minds, I did not have the circumstance to be afforded a happy childhood. It took me until I grew up to realize the horrors of my heritage, that I was othered from the moment I was conceived. Growing up was a test of fortitude, a gauntlet to retain my individuality. But as I grew up and found out the core of who I am, I slowly realized the beauty of it all, that even through shrapnel and ash, things like me have the ability to flourish and bloom above the broken soil. I make the art I do to let those who suffered the horrors I went through, and the horrors my father was born from, that they are not alone. I will continue to create narratives and worlds until the day I leave the earth all together, as joy is an act of rebellion.