"Ten Years Beneath A Lamp" David Hu   "Allowed to Love Loudly" Frankie Molfese   "Sound as Identity" Leonardo Riccardo   "The Parts of Her That Remained" Durry Adan

The fine Matcha powder sits in the creases of Hana’s palms. Frantically, she drops the bowl and instinctively bows in front of a veteran coworker, who ensures her it, “happens all the time.” Hana couldn’t find the words fast enough to apologize for her mess. She feels helpless and carefully sweeps up the broken shards of black ceramic as a sign of surrender. It wasn’t the same as back home in Osaka. She feels like a failure, struggling to piece together a new life.   Smoothing over her dirty apron, she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She walks over to the counter to ensure everything is in place. The creamer is in the refrigerator, the shakers are on the drying rack, and everything is set, except for Hana. After a few months in a new country, she feels immense pressure. They all speak another language. Even after five months, English is still as foreign as it was when she touched down in New York. She can’t seem to express her feelings in words others will understand. Frustration feels heavy on her shoulders, like boulders stacked upon her chest.   Immigration is a tumultuous journey, and for Hana, the language barrier keeps her from her potential. At work, she struggles to express herself and is ashamed of her failures. There are many difficulties with language proficiency, “…almost half of immigrants in the U.S. are not English proficient,” according to the George W. Bush Institute. ...

Sticky Notes by Ruby Cox   Taking Up Space by Maxum Doucette   A Dancer’s Becoming by Angela Zhou   Keep Going by Rebecca Pagani

Each day, Noel awoke to silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. The specialized confinement training chamber trapped not only his body, but his mind in a timeless void. Minutes had become hours, then at some point hours seamlessly transitioned into…

I sit in the pretend barbershop in our kitchen. My mom and two young daughters gather around me, while my husband shaves the last patchy clumps of hair from my scalp. Tears flow out of my mother’s eyes—she wipes them…

The clock ticks on 11:42. A spacious classroom of desks are lined up neatly, children are scattered, quietly taking notes as Mr. Matherson explains the history of the Silk Road. Noelle sits in the front row like she does in…