Ganbei Fall 2020 Nostalgia

DEC 2022

1ST ISSUE : NOSTALGIA

Nostalgia

Ganbei Zine

NO. 1

Ganbei ZineNO. 1

■ Ganbei Zine is Northeastern University’s first arts

and literary magazine focused on the Chinese American

experience. Our name means “Cheers!” in Mandarin, used

when people put their drinks together at celebratory

feasts; thus, our name is an expression of celebration and

unity. Ganbei aims to bring together Chinese-American

students on campus in the same way that people would

when saying Ganbei at the table. Ganbei Zine uses the arts

to uplift and diversify the voices heard at Northeastern.

For the Fall 2022 semester, we chose the theme of

Nostalgia. As one of the strongest emotions we experience,

nostalgia gives us a chance to tell stories of childhood

and reflect fondly. Through a submissions form, Ganbei

encouraged contributors to think about the parts of

Chinese culture they have gained, lost, and reclaimed

over the years, and share their stories through vessels of

creative writing, photography, and illustration, with the

community.

This magazine was an idea born from Aleks Dawson’s

Graphic Design 1 class, a concept for an assignment to

create three magazine covers. At that time, Ganbei was

called General Tso & Me, a result of my wish to use editorial

design to compile stories to better understand my own

culture and the people around me. Using design as a vessel

to explore and visualize the intricacies of the Chinese-

American narrative, Ganbei’s talented team has brought this

idea to reality.

With much to anticipate, Ganbei would like to share its first

edition, Nostalgia. ■

China Qin

Logistics & Design at Ganbei Zine

Foreword

NO.

1

GANBEI MAGAZINE : NOSTALGIA

Chapter 1

01

A Childhood in Parts

Writing

07

11

09

15

23

25

27

29

31

03 A Photo Album Photography

Childhood Snacks Illustration

Fish and Quarters Writing

Chapter 2

Looking Back with Cindy Xu

30

A Type Poster Design

Photography

Guizhou Lamb Noodles Writing

8% Illustration

I Eat Noodles for Breakfast Writing

Tomato and Scrambled Egg

Boba Writing

Reminiscing Apt. 4D Writing

Writing

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 3

35

The Ingredients of a

Home-cooked Meal

Writing

41

47

39 My First Meaning of Home Writing

Smile for Breakfast Photography

43

Sparkling Illustration

49

On Being Chinese Writing

Every New Year Is Winter Photography

51

Credits

■ NOSTALGIA CAN BE TRIGGERED BY OBJECTS— US HUMANS CAN HOLD SPECIAL

RELATIONSHIPS WITH THINGS THAT ARE INANIMATE. OBJECTS LONG FORGOTTEN

THAT WE FIND IN OUR HOMES CAN REVOKE MEMORIES OF THE PAST. OUR OBJECTS

CAN TAKE US ACROSS TIME ZONES, OVER OCEANS, AND ALL OVER THE NATIONS

THAT WE IDENTIFYING AS A PART OF. CHAPTER 1 IS ABOUT OBJECTS, TIME, AND

MEMORY ■

Chapter 1


A

Childhood

in Parts

Sunbeams filter through the windows,

suspending dust particles

like silver ornaments. I am cleaning

the living room, choosing what

to keep and what to discard from

eighteen years of life: casting away

the old before a new beginning

away from home. It’s strange to think

that next year, I might not be home

for Lunar New Year—perhaps my

parents will send me red packets

through Wechat for the first time.

Maybe it’s best to start with the

bookshelf, where things are relatively

easy to sort out. I reach for the

stack of CDs that are on the highest

shelf, and they come tumbling down,

a cascade of my oldest memories

laid out in front of me: Sun Wukong’s

Havoc in Heaven, Nezha, a strange

teaching cartoon about common

idioms. The tapes play in my mind’s

eye: a loop of low-quality film in

flat, bright colors, painting mythical

characters on an old TV, making

CHAPTER 1

them come alive. I wipe the dust

off the CD cases and place them

back on the shelf.

There are an endless number of

Chinese textbooks below. Faded

cartoon children smile and laugh

on the covers: the insides have

stories about 方方 (Fāngfāng) and

小明 (Xiǎomíng), idioms and classical

poems, and oddly proportioned

characters practiced over and over

in a child’s hand. My name is written

faithfully on the front and back

covers of each book: 徐宇姗 , 徐宇姗

again and again. For practice, and

to compare out of curiosity, I scribble

it once more on a stray sticky-note.

Now it looks more practiced, has

better structure: three characters

that are marginally less ugly than the

rest of my limited vocabulary. I slot

the sticky note into the first volume

of the textbooks—perhaps it can

serve as a reminder of my growth.

02

CHAPTER 1

There’s a photo album of my

grandparents, my parents, me as a

child. I open it, flip through portraits

of Beijing and the States frozen in

time—it spans from past to present,

China to America, from one part of

myself to another, far away.

Pictures show the outside of my

grandparents’ Beijing apartment

from ten years ago, and even

though the photo is motionless and

unchanging, it still carries the smell

of cigarette smoke and the cheery

loudness of the breakfast stalls

selling tofu pudding and youtiao. My

grandfather sits in a picture frame,

explaining how to play cards and

Chinese checkers, and I can hear the

03

CHAPTER 1

rules he describes to me in dialect

accented Mandarin. My parents

lead me around the stadiums for the

2008 Olympics and take my picture

in front of the Great Wall; they lay

out a tantalizing lunar new year’s

dinner on our plain wood dinner

table—dumplings, plump shiitake

mushrooms, egg drop soup, steamed

fish, savored for a fleeting evening

before another regular school

day. The new year celebration in my

family is never the most elaborate—

just food, quiet relaxation, and three

quiet wishes for a better year—

but it is something, and it is home.

This is home. ■

04


Connie

My relatives always tell me stories

about how funny I was when I was

little. Every time we go back to visit

they reminisce about the same few

anecdotes. I don’t remember any of

them myself (I was literally only four),

but the number of times I’ve heard

them, they’re ingrained in my head.

A Photo

CONNIE TANG

4TH YEAR

CHAPTER 1

Looking at old pictures of myself in

China makes me sad because I think

about how much of myself that I’ve

lost: the memories my family has of

me that I don’t, the language I used

to be hilarious in that I can barely

speak anymore.

Album

06


Anne

My mom took this and I don’t really

remember what’s going on LOL but

I think this was taken in our old apartment

before we moved to our current

house. My dad’s trying to teach

me chinese, but I wasn’t cooperating.

ANNE SHEN

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 1

Angel

My mom took this photo

of my older brother and

I in our driveway. In a

lot of my childhood photos,

I have a disgusted/

confused/offended look

on my face because I

hated the camera flash.

I promise I was not as

upset as I look!

ANGEL YANG

2ND YEAR

08


Childhood

Snacks

I drew my favorite snacks as a child that remind me of Chinese

culture. There is mochi, kiss burn, shrimp chips, melona, pocky,

haw flakes, tanghulu, and fruit jelly. The colors are very Y2K and

the particular shades of pink and blue used to be my favorite

colors. Overall, this piece was challenging to me because of

the many components and details which I got sucked into and

typography, which is something I’ve never really touched before. ■

AARON FU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 1

10


A Type

Poster

This piece is actually a project

for my typography class — funny

thing is, I only recently learned

how to play mahjong. My roommate

offered to teach me how to play,

and I only agreed because I was

curious why my 公公 (gōng gōng,

grandfather) would play this game

everyday, without fail, back in China.

But now, I understand why. It’s an

addicting game of strategy and luck.

Even without betting money, it’s

still a really fun game to play with

friends. Back to the topic of nostalgia,

though I can’t say this game

is personally very nostalgic to me

(yet), I feel as though I’ve unlocked

another part of my identity this

semester. I’m truly grateful for the

community of people i’ve met in

the Asian American Center who

also love playing mahjong. Looking

into the future, my next typography

project is designing a book on

the history and art of mahjong and

I can’t wait for the day I get to go

back to China to play mahjong with

my 公公 (gōng gōng, grandfather). ■

CHRISTINA WU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 1

12


Fish and

Quarters

Love can come in many forms such as a hug or a kiss,

But for me it came in fish and quarters.

My grandma often visited me when I was young

To bring my favorites: fish and quarters.

Fish oh so delicate,

Specially prepared for me,

My grandma’s love poured into it

Perfect for me to enjoy.

Quarters in tight paper rolls

Counted out with precision

Clinking jauntily as each one dropped into a piggy bank

Given to me in the hopes that I would never struggle.

Love can come in many forms such as a hug or a kiss,

But for me, it came in fish and quarters.

AMANDA CHIN

2ND YEAR

CHAPTER 1

14

■ NOSTALGIA GIVES US A CHANCE TO REMINISCE AND REFLECT. CHAPTER 2

FOCUSES ON SPACES OF COMMUNITY, LANGUAGE, AND CULINARY CULTURE

THAT UNLOCKS GREATER INSIGHT INTO OUR CHINESE-AMERICAN NARRATIVE. WE

GET A GLIMPSE OF CHILDHOOD MEMORIES THAT ARE BROUGHT TO

THE SURFACE AGAIN ■

Chapter 2


Looking

back with

Cindy Xu

Pictured here are images from my

home in Shanghai, China. That desk

in the entryway is usually in the guest

bedroom and I can’t quite remember

why it was there in this picture,

but the phone (covered by a towel)

on the telephone table hidden in

its shadow to the right is the same

one that I used to call my parents

in the US with while I was in China.

CINDY XU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

telephone

table

home in

Shanghai

used to

call my parents

in the US

hidden

in the shadow

18


colourful

exercise

machinery

tai chi at

the crack

of dawn

elderly folk

doing

morning

exercises

CINDY XU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

The [next] two outdoors pictures

are of the central park area in our

apartment complex. I’m sure most

people can recognise the clearing

with the colourful exercise machinery,

where you could always find a few

elderly folk doing morning exercises

and tai chi at the crack of dawn.

20


The path with the red lanterns leads

to a koi pond with turtles and a spiral

fountain, where every morning there

would be kids frolicking about whilst

their grandparents caught up with

each other. My grandma and I would

bring fish food for the pond inhabitants

and egg yolks for the dogs

on our morning walks.

CINDY XU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

red lanterns

leading to a

koi pond

turtles

and a spiral

fountain

my grandma

and I

22


wooden

slats

rocking chair

in the master

bedroom

bittersweet

wave of

nostalgia

and longing

CINDY XU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

Sometimes I would sit on the

rocking chair in the master

bedroom, looking out the wall

of windows next to it, and

wind up getting my hair caught

in the wooden slats. It’s been

9 years since I was last able to

go home (thanks, COVID) and

scrolling through these pictures

brought on a bittersweet

wave of nostalgia and longing.

24


羊

粉

肉

"My mom and dad are both from 贵

州 (Guìzhōu), and my extended family

on both sides all still live there. We

used to visit every other summer, and

I would beg to get 羊肉粉 (Yáng Ròu

Fěn, Rice-flour noodles with Mutton)

for literally every meal. As I got older

and my Mandarin got worse, food

became the main way I could still

connect with my relatives. I wasn't

able to talk to them about much

but still they would always make

sure to take me out to eat 羊肉粉

(Yáng Ròu Fěn) and tell me which

places had the yummiest versions.

Because of covid, it's been years

CONNIE TANG

4TH YEAR

CHAPTER 2

Guizhou

Lamb

Noodles

since I've been back, and as I get

older and closer to graduating and

worse at Mandarin I've been feeling

extra nostalgic. 贵州 (Guìzhōu) cuisine

is not that popular in America, and

the only place I've been able to find

it is Hakata Ramen. Even though it

scratches the itch, I'm scared that

it'll never be the same here as it

is in China and that I've let go of

one of the last things connecting

me to my family. This is a screenshot

of an album of pictures of all

the bowls I ate when I last visited

China in 2019 and I have it organized

in a folder named :( ■

26


8%

I drew this piece, titled 8%, in my senior year

while attending a high school with an 8% Asian

population. My Chinese best friend and I used

to joke that we were “divided and conquered”.

No friend group had more than two Asians, but

any group with Asians always had two. It was

as though every one of us, starting in elementary

school in our predominantly white suburbs,

picked another Asian to cling onto. Despite the

dramatic push and pull of adolescent friend

circles, I held onto the one friend that also spoke

Chinglish, ate rice with every meal, and cried

over extra-curricular math at the dining table.

There were some things from home only another

daughter of Asian immigrants understood.

But we weren’t allowed to be too similar. I can’t

remember a teacher that didn’t mix up our names.

We split into different friend groups, different

classes, and different hobbies. When we both

bought a light blue jean jacket in junior year,

we promised to text each other on nights before

we wore it, so we wouldn’t accidentally match.

My childhood was peaceful. I studied like everyone

else, hated the bus like everyone else, and

got crushes like everyone else, but I could never

escape the subtle ways everyone else saw my

little triumphs of culture. My friend and I were

“the two Asian girls”, and Chinese opera singers

looked like clowns. ■

JESSICA SHANG

2ND YEAR

CHAPTER 2

28


I Eat

Noodles

for

Breakfast

LILY XU

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

Who eats noodles for breakfast, that’s so weird!

My first-grade teacher immediately hushed all my other

classmates whispering and giggling at each other while

stealing glances at me. That was the last time I confidently

talked about my favorite Asian meal as a kid.

Growing up in a predominately white suburb is something

many Asian-Americans can relate to. Especially as a secondgeneration

immigrant, I could feel the dichotomy between

my life inside and outside my house. I spoke Mandarin at

home. I learned to speak English at school. I folded wontons

with my grandparents while writing homework assiwgnments

of baking apple pies with my mom. I felt different from the

other kids who didn’t look like me, and I wanted to be like

them. I assimilated until I lost fluency in my native language.

Growing up is understanding and loving myself and my journey

as a Chinese-American. It starts small, like saying your

favorite meals are your mom’s 炸酱面 (Zhá Jiàng Miàn, Black

Bean Noodles) or your dad’s 年糕 (Nián Gāo, Ricecake).

I’ve always felt connected to my Chinese culture through food.

Now, I enjoy eating noodles whenever I want to. I make it the

way my parents do when they’re in a rush to get to work: plain

with a bit of soy sauce, black vinegar, and sesame oil. Noodles

bring back fond memories of late night studying at the kitchen

table where my dad would bring a hot soupy bowl of it with

an egg on top.

I look back to that time where we all sat criss-cross apple

sauce in front of our first-grade teacher who asked us what

we eat for breakfast every morning, and answer: Noodles.

Why wouldn’t I eat them for breakfast? ■

30


番

茄

炒

鸡

Hearing chopping and slamming sounds

on a cutting board never fails to remind

me of home. I think some Chinese-

Americans can relate to the fact that

one of the things they miss most about

living at home is the home-cooked

food. For me, 番茄炒鸡蛋 , (Fānqié Chǎo

Jīdàn, Tomato with Scrambled Eggs)

is a classic Chinese dish that comforts

me whenever I feel homesick. The

fragrant smell of garlic wafting through

the air invites me downstairs to watch

my dad or mom stir fry the tomatoes

and add the fluffy eggs in. Even though

I make it sometimes in my dorm, nothing

can ever beat the dish when my

parents make it. ■

蛋

JOANNA ZHAO

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 2

b o

b

a

sweet, small, silly balls

they are such a delight in the malls

I grew up describing them in this way

but people had no clue what to say

is it jelly?

is it smelly?

can you choke on one too many?

these questions were uncanny

but not unreasonable

for I too found it impossible

to share in words this special treat

to unknowing friends I meet

boba, tapioca, bubble tea

the ultimate jubilee

don’t believe me?

then try it, you’ll see!

TIFFANY YANG

3RD YEAR

32


Reminiscing

Apt. 4D

The smell of scallions, ginger,

and chives filled our kitchen and

poured into our apartment hall

every evening at 7PM. They were

the spices I despised as a child.

By the end of the meal, a mini

mountain of scallion oil and soy

sauce infused ginger-strips sit sulking

by my unfinished bowl of rice.

Lao Lao (grandma) shakes her head

— “Finish your food picky girl, every

single grain of rice is a fruit of hard

work”. Lao Lao said my taste buds

would grow, like me. One day, I would

learn to love the sweetness and heat

of biting into a raw scallion stalk.

This picture is from a celebratory

family feast made by my Lao Ye

(grandpa). These are the flavors

& smells I miss when I’m away from

home at college. These are the flavors

I’ve been trying to recreate.

Lao Lao said my tastebuds

would grow, like me.

CONNIE TOO

2ND YEAR

CHAPTER 2

34

■ AFTER RELFECTION, CHAPTER 3 HIGHTLIGHTS NARRATIVES WITH THE THEME

OF CONNECTING THE PAST TO THE PRESENT. AFTER WE BROUGHT FEELINGS OF

NOSTALGIA TO THE SURFACE, WHAT DO WE DO WITH THESE FEELINGS? WE HOPE

THAT NOSTALGIA GIVES US A CHANCE TO UNIFY, REFRAME, AND HEAL WITH THESE

NARRATIVES ■

Chapter 3


These

flavors

and

moments

are

constant

reminders

of

home.

EDGAR SZE

2ND YEAR

CHAPTER 3

The

Ingredients

of a Homecooked

Meal

I grew up as a chubby child: my

late grandmother spoiled me with

carefully crafted home-cooked

meals. I spent much of my time

keeping her company in the kitchen,

staring in awe as she lay an

uncountable number of ingredients

into our soon-to-be supper. Sneaking

bites of a fragrant dish while setting

the table only to be scolded by her

with a laugh – “ 肥仔 !” (féi zǐ, chubby

boy) – was a daily occurrence.

Entering my newly leased apartment

this Fall, I realized a novel privilege

and responsibility: owning a kitchen

with two of my closest friends,

Nelson and Alex. As a food-lover

with tastebuds my grandmother

herself molded, I had a hefty goal

in mind: to cook dishes that would

make those buds – and my human

buds – happy. Admittedly, these

past few months only resulted

in flavors that don’t even come

close to the magic she produced,

but they still remind me of home.

Home with my grandmother feels

like something I lived but didn’t

fully live; something I knew was

important but didn’t grant enough

importance to; something I want

to live again to the extent offered

in those precious hours, but originally

refused. It was a home where

外婆 (wài pó, grandmother) gently

handled her chopsticks with fragile,

weathered hands to place a piece

of my favorite dish in my rice bowl.

38


That home is forever stored within

me. It’s a home that I attempt to

bring to life with cooking.

This apartment with Nelson and Alex,

176 miles away from where I lived

with my grandmother, is home now.

Sometimes we sit at the counter

watching the other struggle to figure

out a recipe their mother told through

the phone. We stare as their flavor

of home comes to life, impatiently

waiting for a taste (which is usually

met with a few curses). Finally,

as it’s plated, we’re offered a small,

singular bite as if it were their most

precious thing. These flavors and

moments are constant reminders

of home. A home that I hope to grant

enough importance and live to its

fullest extent. A home that will be

stored within me and brought to

life with cooking when it becomes

another distant, but dear memory. ■

[Finally, as it’s plated,

we’re offered a

EDGAR SZE

2ND YEAR

CHAPTER 3

THAT HOME IS FOREVER STORED WITHIN

ME. IT’S A HOME THAT I ATTEMPT

TO BRING TO LIFE WITH COOKING.

a small, singular bite as if it

were their

most precious

thing.]

40


My

First

Meaning

of Home.

MICHELLE CHEN

1ST YEAR

CHAPTER 3

For me, nostalgia exhibits itself

most clearly in the form of memories

of when I was a toddler

in China where my grandparents

had taken care of me.

Where we lived, there were

little food trucks/carts that were

up at the crack of dawn selling

breakfast food like youtiaos.

There was a market near us where

people sold produce. There was

a park my grandparents would

take me to in the evenings with

many other kids and grandparents.

I had been a picky eater and would

take forever eating a meal. I liked

to dance and dress up. I had

to fall asleep with a specific blanket

with a pattern of bears in blue

corduroy pants because I liked how

it felt. In the little, close-knit town

where my grandparents had grown

up, I came to define my very first

meaning of home. Around fourteen

years have gone by. As I reflect

even now, I realize that as they are

watching me grow up, I’m watching

them grow older. I Facetimed them

yesterday, having noticed that it

had been almost a month since the

last time. As soon as I heard them

call me by my nickname in Mandarin

and speak the Fuzhonese dialect I

only semi-understand now, I smiled.

When I think of nostalgia, the

memories are strongly intertwined

with the two people who always

keep me in their hearts and think

of me as the little girl they fondly

took care of so long ago. ■

42


Smile for

Breakfast

(GRANDFATHER’S

BAMBOO)

(MCDONALDS

PANCAKE)

(SUNDAY

NEWSPAPER)

VANESSA CHEN

3RD YEAR

CHAPTER 3

This is a picture of me at age 5

taken by my dad on a digital camera.

Though it’s a simple candid capture,

it brings all of my sense of identity

together in one picture; I’m shown,

gums out, with a McDonalds pancake

in my cheeks and hand that my

parents and grandparents picked

up on a quiet Sunday morning for

the breakfast discount in suburban

New Jersey along the highway.

My dad is hunched behind the

kitchen table across from me poised

with our advanced, brand new Canon

A260 struggling to focus on me midbite

after spontaneously becoming

an aspiring photographer. At the

same time the Chinese newspaper

my grandma scrambled for every

Sunday grocery run at Hmart, our

only Asian grocery around town in

2005, and a crop of my grandfather’s

immortal New York City bamboo

surround me as representative

pieces of my Chinese background.

All of the little parts of my life fed

into who I see myself as between two

cultures; as small as a syrupy Sunday

drive-thru to my grandparents’

greatest everyday treasures. ■

44


我

是

中

国

人

JASON TUNG

4TH YEAR

CHAPTER 3

My experience felt so much

more American—I grew disconnected

from a culture that felt

forced upon me by people I had

no agency in choosing.

On Being

Chinese

Growing up as the child of two

immigrant parents who came to

America at a young age and barely

spoke English, my childhood was

very Chinese-American.

My parents were very busy working

when I was younger, but in the rare

moments when they weren’t working,

they saturated my childhood with

Chinese culture. Sometimes it was

inconspicuous, like the meals my

mother cooked or speaking to me

in the only language they knew, but

other times it was more deliberate

like dressing me up in traditional

garments for Chinese New Year while

singing 恭喜恭喜 (gōngxǐ gōngxǐ,

good wishes) or taking me to burn

joss paper.

Looking back on it, I was incredibly

privileged to have been surrounded

by so much culture. But my parents

were rarely able to find time to spend

with me, so they were “my” parents,

but they were never mine and “my”

culture never felt like mine.

My experience felt so much more

American—I grew disconnected from

a culture that felt forced upon me by

people I had no agency in choosing.

I loved eating hot pockets, mashed

potatoes, and pasta, not 炒饭 , 宫保鸡

丁 , and 酸辣汤 . I wanted to celebrate

Christmas, not 中秋節 . I spoke English

most of the time, not Chinese. In

Chinese class, I would say “ 我是美国

人 ” (I am American) instead of “ 我是

中国人 ” (I am Chinese).

46


I look back on my upbringing beyond

just my childhood with a bittersweet

sense of nostalgia: I remember when

I was able to happily celebrate my

culture, but with that comes the

inevitable aftertaste of regret for the

contempt and shame I felt towards my

heritage—and a deep wish that I had

continued to explore and cherish what

it means to be Chinese.

But more than anything else, I am

left with an understanding that my

experience does not have to be that

of the son to Chinese immigrants or

that of a boy who was once ashamed

of his culture, but that I am all of those

things and more: I am made up of all

of these experiences but I am not

defined by any one narrative. ■

I am not defined by

any one narrative.

JASON TUNG

4TH YEAR

48


MARENDA LI

1ST YEAR

CHAPTER 3

Sparkling

When I think of nostalgia, I can’t

help but think of the qipao I used

to wear all the time when I was

little. I realized that over time,

I stopped wearing traditional

Chinese clothing because there

was never really an occasion

that needed it. I still love the way

qipao’s look, and I drew this to

capture a small essence of my

childhood with a sparkler to light

up the memory.

50


DANA GUO

1ST YEAR

CHAPTER 3

Every new year is winter.

All my family travels back to our

hometown. No matter how far we

live, we have to meet up with the

rest of the big family in my

grandparents’ house.

The valley is in the mountains and

away from the city. Everyone who

lives in the valley is more and less

connected with one ancestor. More

than three hundred people are

coming on Spring Festival.

We watch fireworks and have drinks

together.

52

HOLDING ONTO THAT HAZY FEELING

53


Ganbei

Nostalgia Zine

Fall 2022

Co-Editors

China Qin

@fermentedcrab

Logistics & Design

Cynthia Cao

caocynthia.com

Design & Illustration

Enzo Nguyen

Design

Sharon Chen

@ultyjh

Design

Vanessa Peng

vanessapeng.com

Design

Special Thanks

Northeastern Pan

Asian American

Council (PAAC)

Contributors

Stephanie Xu

Connie Tang

Christina Wu

Anne Shen

Angel Yang

Amanda Chin

Cindy Xu

Connie Tang

Lily Xu

Jessica Shang

Tiffany Yang

Joanna Zhao

Connie Too

Edgar Sze

Vanessa Chen

Jason Tung

Marenda Li

Michelle Chen

Dana Guo

Northeastern

Chinese Student

Association (CSA)

54


Est. 2022

55

Ganbei Fall 2020 Nostalgia

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