Three men standing side-by-side near trees with a bridge in the foggy distance

Close-up of an Irish Setter puppy with reddish fur

A mandala that is half half Asian American, half Andean

Memoir

“Envision a future in which your culture, history, and values have guided the world to an alternative reality — and harnessing that energy, create a piece to resonate with our times.”

Reality is born of our thoughts, feelings, and perceptions. To create an alternative world, we must first then take an imaginative leap — place ourselves first into a future of possibilities, and only then work backwards and guide ourselves to that point from our present moment.

That was the reasoning behind this prompt for Alternative Worlds, to feel an alternative reality in our present mind, to first dream and then to manifest.

Each person has their own knowledge, stories, and vision — and it’s in bringing those voices together and harnessing our collective wisdom that we can also begin to glimpse an alternative reality greater than the sum of its parts — a collective dream that we all share.

In keeping with these ideas, here we have space for contributors to express what this project means to us, what we hope folks take away from it, and what we’re grateful for:

For me, this project was born out of a desire to create a resource for the Andean community. When I started the journey to learn about my Andean heritage, I had a ridiculously hard time knowing where to start or how to find resources and representation. So part of my motivation is to make it easier for anyone else in the future to start this process of self discovery, and to know they’re not alone.

This project is also a way to honor the idea of ayni or reciprocity in Andean culture. I’ve recently been dialed into this idea of Global Reciprocity, a proposal to create new paradigms in our cultures, practices, and institutions centering reciprocal relationships at the core, all of which I learned about alongside Shirley via a class with the Ayni Institute, a social change organization with Peruvian leadership based out of Boston.

With that in mind, creating both the Andean and Asian American collections in solidarity with one another, both as a way to celebrate our diversity as well as build new relationships and recognize our shared humanity, is a contribution to this idea of moving towards Global Reciprocity. How do we get there? By going together. And concretely, I had so much fun collaborating with Sandy and Shirley to make a zine, and with Charles on creating our essay correspondence!

In all, I hope by bringing together all of the fantastic work folks are already doing in their respective circles, we can make it easy for folks to both connect and start a process of self discovery to give us a better understanding of who we are, cultural heritage included, allowing us to nourish our own lives as well as know all that we have to offer as we share our whole selves with one another and the world.

I must say that I am grateful for this project put forth by Alternative Worlds because it allows the English-speaking world to experience Andean culture (the collection I’ve participated in). As a musician and artist I believe the Arts are the most accessible entry point into culture and cultural preservation. 

In my case from this project I hope more people who have seen themselves as “just” mestizos will find the courage to learn about their indigeneity, that musicians or musically inclined people of any background will perform my short piece in their recitals knowing its context and will give credit to me and Andean roots for its creation and hopefully a wider audience see that we live and colonization did not eliminate my indigenous Native American (South American people) Tawantinsuyu (Four Suyus or the Andean world). 

I feel blessed to be included in a collection of such gifted creators and artists and open for collaboration with I also hope will be possible in the future. Thank you, Gracias, Payllaa (Ancash/Central Quechua), Añay/Sulpayki (Southern Quechua), Pay Suma (Aymara)

Participating in this project, just going through the exercise of imagining a future based on different values, helped to shift my frame of thinking about what changes are possible. What I wish for people to take away from this project is encouragement to at least momentarily set aside what we think of as common sense and logic. If it can be imagined, it can be done. Believing isn’t a sufficient step but it is a necessary one. And I think art, fiction, these are all ways of giving structure the more fundamental exercise of stretching our imaginations. 

I’m really grateful to have my music and art included in this collection, and love that we got to stop and consider Andean conceptions of the future and its cyclical nature. Jallalla to the organisers who worked so hard to make it possible!

In considering the future, especially after the recent IPCC report, it is difficult to imagine one without burning horizons and absolute destruction and loss, an apocalyptic future that mainstream media and peak oil preppers alike anticipate in dreams and nightmares. But certainly it is important to look into the past, to look at how we once broke free from previously established orders, recovered and adapted some of their tools and created new ones, and somehow reforged ourselves into new versions. Knowledge of our biome within us, of all the microorganisms that we cohabit with and that transcend western concepts of finite life, means our Andean three spirits — our Jach’a, Jisk’a and Sullka Ajayus — can flourish. We are not limited in time because we are linked to everything that happened before and can happen in future, but we are here now and although this Pachakuti is a great clash, a time of great destruction, it is also the beginning of a new cycle. 

As this collection launches I will be in Glasgow, a city I was exiled to as a baby, like a mitma community sent by our invaders to a new inhospitable environment, but I was able to become a part of that place and discover and be there to help and work with the Minga Indigena, the gathering of indigenous delegates who are already arriving to Glasgow for COP26 as I write, each one from a different tribe across Abya Yala, to help  raise awareness and share the knowledge, art and stories so that we can mold the future. 

Minga is an ancient word, and like Ayni it is about shared work, this time between tribes, across cultures, where Ayni is that exchange with the elements, life and those directly around us, a Minga is that shared work we all have to do in a wider sense. In the same way the Chakana is not just a cross, but a sign in the stars that indicates the seasons, the work to do across those seasons, across our cultures, beyond our differences, for the good of mother nature, and for the society that we can build by coordinating together and figuring it all out again. 

I’m grateful for memory and tradition that has granted me inspiration to write. Often we recognize that our bodies, hearts, and mind hang onto the trauma and pain. But, our bodies, hearts, and minds also hang onto our ancestral memories. I remember once in college a professor told a classmate that nationalism was a lie, and my classmate panicked fearing that their entire identity was built on a lie. While nationalism may be a colonial lie, I knew that the connection to the land and the ancestral traditions practiced on our land were and will always be real. The fire in my heart as it comes alive when I hear our traditional music is memory. The affinity to experience others never had had to face is memory. The joy of dancing and wearing our traditional clothes is memory. No one can take any of it away. I honor my ancestors' knowledge and their collective memory living in me through my writing for the project. I am grateful for the opportunity and grateful for the ability to remember. 

I'm grateful for the chance to share my little story with the world, alongside so many brilliant artists who share my hyphenated identity. My webzine started out as a personal endeavor to make some sense of my hard drive full of travel photos and videos, and to put my fleeting memories into words before I forgot — I hadn't imagined that more than a handful of people might look at it. And now, seeing my story in this collection has given me greater perspective and reminded me of the power that my stories may hold, especially in chorus with other voices in the community. I hope this project can inspire someone to start creating and sharing, as even tiny and mundane stories are worth telling.

I’m grateful for this space and the opportunity to share my story and process. I find it very easy to talk with other members in this group and receive meaningful feedback, as well as learn how my experience resonates with their own. My work deals with my own narrative as I exist in the world, so I never thought about the “what if”s of an alternative reality that this project celebrates (I am now, though! :)). My project started from my art thesis in college and is gradually growing outwards as I view the other projects included here. I think it’s wonderful to see so many people like myself that are navigating through their identities in their own way and to see what media they transform that journey into.

This project means a few different things to me. It feels like a validation of the power of relationships and friendships even over long distances, and (especially so) through global pandemic Apocalypse. It also feels like one step towards a future that centers collaboration, creativity, community, joy, and reciprocity! 

I hope they take away a sense of awe at how dope our community is!! And a sense of love and inspiration from all of the different mediums of art and truth that was shared. And maybe some motivation to keep engaging and being involved with AltSalt as we continue to grow and evolve. 

I'm grateful for the core team, Art and Sandy! You both are such amazing people that I’m honored to know and work with. And for our entire community who submitted artwork and contributed their time and energy to this collection. And grateful for the Ayni institute for bringing  us together and rekindling the fire of our ancestors and for sharing the wisdom and teachings of the long view.

I’m so grateful for the connections this project has helped me cultivate, nurture, and grow. Because of Alternative Worlds, I’ve been able to learn about and connect with amazing artists; not to mention see, read, and experience incredible creative works! My horizons have been expanded in the best ways possible. Especially in this day and age where we are so inundated with the internet and technology (to the point where it can be hard to put your phone down and just be present), I find that having a resource like this one is more important than ever. I try to avoid mindless scrolling through social media, but sometimes social media is the only way to find and stumble upon awesome creators that inspire me. Projects like these, however, provide another way to connect with and learn from creators that is more intentional and community-centered, which I think we can all benefit from.

It’s been a beautiful journey getting to see this project come to fruition, and for sure one of the best parts was getting to work with Art and Shirley to develop a collaborative zine! I love the energy we have as a group and I have learned so much from both of you, as well as the greater AltSalt community as a whole. I can’t wait to continue the journey and see where our projects, collaborations, and community leads us next :)

This project was devised by Sandy Enriquez, Shirley Man-Kin Leung, and Artemio Morales in May 2021 as a means of making resources for our communities.

We first reached out to existing AltSalt members to create a promotional collage for our Call for Submissions.

After that, we published the open call on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter on June 15th, with a deadline of August 15th.

From July 17-18th, we held a workshop weekend of programming, including online workshops and discussion groups.

As we received final submissions around August 15th, Artemio began to design and program support for the different content types that would need to exist on the site to support the submissions.

Principal programming was completed in mid September, after which Artemio, Shirley, and Sandy began devising how to frame and present the collections.

In early October, contributors were invited to craft statements to accompany the collections and offer feedback on copy throughout the project. Preparations began for a launch event.

The collections were officially launched in November 2021.

A joint statement from contributors to the Andean and Asian American collections, speaking on what Alternative Worlds means to us.

Envisioning the Future

Choclo y Chicha: a zine for (and from) the Andean Diaspora

Alternative Worlds: The Andes and Asian America

Mundos Alternatives: Los Andes y América Asiatica

"To Dream and Be Intentional" — Interview with Shirley Man-Kin Leung

The Birth of Andean Futurism

Bibliography of Asian American Resources

Alternative Worlds Workshop Weekend Schedule

(Interview)

Every year since my friend Bill committed suicide, his mother and I had exchanged Christmas cards. And I am one of those people who do holiday letters. As I have drifted apart from college friends, those annual missives are the only updates I get or give to them and some others in my life, including Bill’s mother. In the holiday letter of 1997, I had announced to the world that after years of hiding the truth even from myself, I had finally come to terms with being gay.&nbsp;I had just moved to the Normal Heights section San Diego from where I had been living in northern San Diego County, in Carlsbad. The house that I was now renting was on the hill above the Qualcomm Stadium where the 1998 Super Bowl would be held, close enough to hear the blimp engines and we’d be able to walk out to my front porch to see the Blue Angels flyover and watch the fireworks show. I decided to throw a Super Bowl/house warming/coming out party.&nbsp;When I packed for the move from Carlsbad to San Diego, I had vowed I would really weed things out. If I was never going to read that book or wear that shirt again, I’d donate it. Bags of clothes went to Goodwill and boxes of books went to the Carlsbad Library.&nbsp;The Friday before Super Bowl Sunday I still had lots of unpacking to do to and I had promised myself that every single box would be emptied so I’d have Saturday free for party prep. I had about 15 boxes to go and was slicing into them, quickly dispatching whatever I found to the appropriate shelf, closet, or cabinet. Then it happened. I slit open a box that I moved to Carlsbad and from Carlsbad without having ever opened. It had stayed for years out of sight up above my car on the joists of the garage. I knew I was never going to wear the clothes that were in it or read the books or look at the photos hidden in it. In it were all of the things that reminded me of Bill. Photos of the trips we had taken together, music cassettes, books, clothes, and gifts he had given me over the years of our friendship. Shortly after Bill’s death, unable to deal with my guilt and sadness, I had sealed all remembrances of him away and I had no intention of opening that box either before or after the move.&nbsp;Suicide is different. I have lost close friends to cancer and felt terrible, but I never felt guilty. I can’t cure cancer. I couldn’t have done anything to prevent the car accidents that claimed other friends’ lives. But suicide, rightly or wrongly, feels preventable. If I had listened better, if I had been a better friend, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Bill’s suicide haunted me so badly that I couldn’t bear to think about him without it causing days of depression.&nbsp;I opened that box and on top was a bicycling jersey Bill had given me. It made my heart sink. I hadn’t planned to deal with this box now or ever, but in my haste to finish unpacking, I had attacked the box without reading the magic marker warning on the top. Shit. I didn’t have time to deal with this. But the jersey wouldn’t release my stare. I had way too much to do and couldn’t spend time fixating on a stupid shirt. I should just re-seal the box and get back to work. Then I remembered my self-imposed dictum to get rid of anything I would never wear again. But I couldn’t throw it out. It was one of my last tangible reminders of Bill. A reminder I couldn’t bring myself to even look at, let alone wear, so I should just donate it to Goodwill. But I couldn’t give it away. I should just seal the box and deal with another time. But I had to deal with it sometime. I should just throw it out. And so it went, my wheels spinning in the same circle as I faced what I had avoided for years. I also thought of the absurdity of keeping a cycling jersey—my knees were too shot to ride more than a mile or two anyway. My days of riding centuries were over; that was something else Bill and I had in common, our knees had curtailed our serious cycling.I got tired of standing over the box, but still couldn’t let go of the dilemma. I carried the shirt to the living room and held it as I sat and stared at it and replayed the options in my head. Donate it. I can’t. Wear it. I can’t. Only to dismiss them all and start over again. After at least an hour, maybe two, I grew tired of my stupid indecision. I needed to go pick up my mail from my P.O. box before they closed and I hadn’t put a shirt on yet that day, so I just decided, screw it. It’s just a shirt. Put it on and go get the mail.<img src="https://altsalt.s3.amazonaws.com/catalog/article/7/image-7/Ring Crop-152315.jpg" alt="A golden ring on a finger" style="height: auto;width: auto"/>Bill's ringIn that day’s mail was a package slip. I stood in line and gave it to the clerk who retrieved a padded envelope just slightly too large to fit in the box. On it was Bill’s mother’s return address. A month earlier, I had already received my once-a-year communication from her—a card with the usual short note, something to the effect of, “I hope you’re doing well” so I hadn’t expected anything.&nbsp;With great curiosity, I opened the envelope. In it was a gold ring. I recognized it immediately as Bill’s. He treasured that ring and had worn it for years. It had been made for him by his great-uncle, a dentist in England who used scraps of dental gold in wax molds to make jewelry of his own designs. After Bill’s great-uncle’s death, the ring meant even more to him as a daily reminder of the man who had been his surrogate grandfather. Bill and I had that in common, also—we each had a special great-uncle who took the place of the grandfathers we both lacked.&nbsp;After one trip to England to visit his mother’s family, Bill came back heartbroken. He said he had been helping his mother’s brother work in the garden and in the course of the digging and planting apparently the ring had slipped off his wet and slimy finger. He didn’t notice it was gone until they were done and he was washing his hands. They went back the garden and raked and dug and searched. They even borrowed a metal detector, but to no avail. Bill had lost the last piece of his great-uncle and there was no way to replace it.&nbsp;In the package with Bill’s ring was a handwritten note from his mother. She said her brother had been working in his garden and found the ring. He thought she should have it. She received the ring the same day she got my coming out letter and she knew I had to have the ring. She said she was giving it to me by proxy for Bill and that she was happy that I had finally found the self-acceptance that Bill never had. Suddenly everything fell into place. The real reason Bill had killed himself.&nbsp;I sat in the car and cried until I calmed down enough to drive home. It also seemed beyond coincidence that for the first time since Bill had died, I was wearing a shirt he had given me while I was holding his ring.&nbsp;Bill’s death had always been a scab for me. Not an open wound, but a barely-healed scab over a wound I was afraid to go anywhere near for fear of causing damage too deep to handle. I had a hard time ever remembering the good times with Bill since the ending was so horrible and my guilt so overwhelming that I shut out thinking about him at all. With the ring, I felt like he had forgiven me (if there was ever anything to forgive) and I knew I could finally start to think of him without immediately going to the bad places.&nbsp;When I got home, I called a friend of Bill’s in L.A. and asked how soon I could see him. Monday, the day after the Super Bowl, I drove to L.A. to have dinner with him. He and Bill had gone to high school together and lived together in Belgium for almost a year when they were trying to break into the ranks of professional track cyclists. I figured if anyone knew if Bill was secretly gay, he would. He said that even in high school, Bill’s friends had assured him that it was okay to come out. He’d still be their friend, and it would be okay. But Bill always vehemently denied being gay.<img src="https://altsalt.s3.amazonaws.com/catalog/article/7/image-7/IYWH cover small-091429.jpg" alt="A book cover containing the title " style="height: auto;width: auto"/>The memoir containing this and other storiesI asked why he thought Bill was gay and he ran through a list of stereotypical gay interests including liking Morrissey, Lucy, and Marilyn Monroe. The way he dressed and held his cigarette. I had noticed some of those things, but attributed the mannerism to being half English and spending so much time in Europe. (There is the old joke: Is he gay? No, just European.) The friend also said he wondered about my friendship with Bill and how quickly Bill and I became friends when we started working together and Bill at times saying things about me that crossed the line from friendship to crush.&nbsp;The talk helped me understand so much. In my mind I replayed many of the moments I’d had with Bill and they made so much more sense now.&nbsp;Once I sorted out the flood of emotions, I wrote to his mother and told her that far more than his ring, she given me back Bill. I know Bill is still with me. He is a part of me and I can enjoy the good memories without having to dwell on the bad. I cried for days when he died, but had been afraid to since; afraid to start again for fear I’d never stop. I finally let out what I had kept inside. It put one more piece of my old unhappy life behind me, to be even happier out of the closet.&nbsp;I was able to unpack the rest of the box of Bill’s stuff. Wear those shirts again. Look at photos of him, have on display some of the other gifts he had given me.&nbsp;I sent Bill’s mother her annual Christmas card about three years ago and a few days later got an email from a real estate agent in Pasadena. He said he was sorry to inform me that Bill’s mother had died. He said in addition to selling the house for the family in England, he had been asked to check mail and follow up on things that required it. His mother never got over the death of her only son so at least now she was at peace.&nbsp;My eyes are moist and I am wearing his ring as I type this, and although still weirded out by the coincidence of the timing, but there has to be a message here: if I ever needed a final endorsement that I was doing the right thing by choosing to be happy for the first time in my life, Bill’s ring was certainly it.I have had so many people ask about the ring over the years. Sometimes just holding out my credit card to pay in a store, the clerk has grabbed my hand and wanted to look at the ring. Some seemed to sense there is some magic to it and asked if it had a story. Once at a drug store, I started telling the story to the clerk and then I realized a line was forming at the register and I apologized and stepped aside and everyone in the line said, “No, this is good. Go on. Finish the story. Please continue.”&nbsp;◇ ◇ ◇The story of The Coming Out Ring is abridged and adapted from <a href="http://www.waltergmeyer.com/product/werent-not-happening/" target="_blank">If You Weren’t Here, This Would Not Be Happening: plogs from my life</a>.&nbsp;Walter G. Meyer is the co- or ghost-writer of six nonfiction books and his the author of critically-acclaimed, award-winning, and Amazon-bestselling gay-themed novel Rounding Third. He has been on radio and television programs including NPR and he has spoken at colleges, libraries and community centers across the country.&nbsp;Mr. Meyer told his own coming out story in The Los Angeles Times, he has written for all of the major gay publications including Out and Advocate and he has written on LGBT topics for the mainstream press including The San Diego Union-Tribune and The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. His articles have appeared in Kiplinger’s Personal Finance, Orange County Register, Westways, Baja Explorer, and dozens of other magazines and newspapers. He is the co-author of a widely-produced stage play GAM3RS.&nbsp;Originally from Pittsburgh, Mr. Meyer has a degree from the School of Communications at Penn State and currently resides in San Diego.

Every year since my friend Bill committed suicide, his mother and I had exchanged Christmas cards. And I am one of those people who do holiday letters...

The Coming Out Ring

A couple of days ago, I came to Pennsylvania to visit my parents and meet the newest addition to our family, a four-month old puppy named Bruno.

After a 2.5-hour trip out of New York, I arrived among the blossoming trees and cold spring of the Poconos. Getting out of the car into the quiet woods, so different from the bustle of the city, I breathed in the crisp air. It felt, as it always does, like breathing for the first time.

The neighborhood road outside my parents' house in Pennsylvania.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting on coming here. I do know that when I saw Bruno, my world froze as I saw his Irish Setter chocolate eyes, wiry frame, and red-orange fur. I knelt down to pet him, he jumped on me in excitement and my mind and body were instantly transported to the past.

Bruno lying down after an impromptu play session with a bunch of old blankets.

I’d grown up with an Irish Setter too, one that passed away 10 years ago. Seeing Bruno reminded me of physical memories I didn’t even know I had, recalling sensations from when I was nine years old playing with my first puppy.

Things are different now. Yet I’ve been thinking about the different portals we have to our memories, how the present is always intersecting, coexisting, recreating with the past.

This 2000-year-old fabric and its mesmerizing shapes was on display at an Andean textile exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum.

At the Brooklyn Museum, I once attended an Andean textile exhibit, seeing mantles woven 2,000 years ago. Following mesmerizing masterful figures and geometric patterns in the cloth, I recall how the pieces felt so familiar and foreign at the same time.

Inherently, we’re not so different from cultures of a thousand years ago. Yet everything is always in a process of change, akin to proceeding in spirals — what has happened reverberates in the present, transformed, circling back on itself, repeating and digressing — recalling, reinventing, ad infinitum.

I do know that when I saw Bruno, my world froze as I saw his Irish Setter chocolate eyes, wiry frame, and red-orange fur. I knelt down to pet him, he jumped on me in excitement and my mind and body...

Reverberating with the past

Untitled

Becoming Our Own Prayer

Thanks Walter! Lovely story of healing and love.

Walter, this is so beautiful and moving. I resonate a lot with having jewelry that serves as a portal to another person's memories and life and stories.&nbsp;

<a href="/shirley" target="_self">@Shirley Man-Kin Leung</a> Hi Shirley - Thanks for writing. As I wrote in the story, the ring does seem to have a magic power that draws people. They want to talk about it I get to talk about Bill. At times I find myself twisting the ring on my finger and memories come flooding back.&nbsp;

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Different Nourishment: Exordium

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an email displayed in a foreign language not recognizable

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Choclo y Chicha Vol. 1

See Sandy is a 14 page storybook zine — follow the protagonist (yours truly) through a sunny day of exploring New York City!

This is a trilingual zine in English, Spanish and Quechua. I made this zine with lots of love for my baby niece because I wanted her to grow up knowing, hearing and seeing Quechua. I also made it as a way to continue practicing Quechua and challenging myself to keep learning.

This is written at the beginner level of Quechua.

See Sandy

Quechualish: An Indigenous Language Zine

Ireland

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Pyth, a 22 year old Cherokee twospirit who dabbles in hex removal and otherworldly conundrums, has recently made a bit of a name for themself. Introduction issues Ritual, Slow, Order, and Lure. PDF format. Music included.

Pumasi: A Lasers & Feelings Hack

Mosqhoq (Dreamer/Soñadora)

Cultural Correspondence

Test Publication

Choclo y Chicha Vol. 2

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Bum Lee Games

Quwicha Zines

I'm a software developer, director of Artmayu Studios, and founder of AltSalt.I love the digital and literary worlds, especially exploring new kinds of digital literature, from experimental multimedia books to narrative adventure games.Currently, I'm in the process of learning more about my Andean background, and thinking through how to bridge that heritage with the world of technology.

The Andean diaspora* community in the United States is confronted with discrimination and a sense of dual exclusion from both Latinx and white US heritages due to histories of colonialism and imperialism that continue to impose Western epistemologies across time and borders. Rima(y) Raíz, an Andean diaspora collective based in NYC, NJ, IL and CA, confronts these issues by documenting and sharing inter-generational oral hxstories of the Andean diaspora in efforts to reclaim a sense of identity, alter dominant narratives about their communities, preserve experiences and knowledge of their elders for the next generation, and create a sense of solidarity. &nbsp;We are inspired by Andean notions of time, space, and community such as pachakutik and the ayllu and we choose oral hxstory as a medium due to its inter-disciplinary, borderless nature. Oral hxstory also acts as a way to decolonize the production of knowledge. The main components of the project are (1) interview three generations across the US-Andean diaspora, including community leaders (2) archive the oral histories in a public website, (3) share and discuss the stories via a podcast, zine, public space installations, and virtual Raymi or parties, and (4) organize gatherings of Andean organizations and leaders to celebrate and unite cultural advocacy efforts.Coloniality may have traversed time and space, but so has our resistance.*The Andean diasporic community includes people with South American heritage from Andean countries such as Bolivia, Ecuador, and Peru. Hence, Rimay Raiz utilizes the term Andean to refer to this region of South America, as opposed to folks that are strictly from the highlands. We remain inclusive of the many nationalities in the Andean region, and recognize that people that may identify with diverse backgrounds, such as that of the coast and the Amazon, Black, Indigenous, mestizo, and we welcome all people who identify with our mission and background, whether they are recent immigrants, second generation, or have not connected to their ancestral countries for generations.

I am gardener and composter passionate about equity in the food system. Quinoa scholar and oral history and community archive enthusiast. Runasimita yachapakuq. Member of the Rimay Raiz colectivo.&nbsp;

Ecuadorian-American sociologist, of Huancavilca and Kichwa descent. Bi-coastal, born in Queens, NY and raised in both NY and CA. Musician, community activist, project coordinator at an immigrant and workers rights org, and co-founder of Rimay Raiz.&nbsp;

Editorial content by the AltSalt team.

Shirley identifies as a queer, asian-american woman of color. She works as a community organizer in Northern Colorado and as a yoga teacher. When not being self-referential in a bio, you can find her painting watercolors, biking around town, dancing, or reading a book.

Imanalla! I'm Sandy, a zinester librarian in sunny southern California. I started making zines as a way to practice and maintain Quechua, my ancestral language and one of the most widely spoken Indigenous languages of the Americas. I now feel like I have too many zine ideas and too little time, but I try to make it work!&nbsp;I participate in several Andinx community projects like the annual May Sumak Quichwa Film Showcase and oral history collective Rimay Raíz. I love creating spaces for our community to share our cultures, languages, and experiences in the diaspora.&nbsp;In my spare time, I enjoy reading/watching things in the realms of sci-fi, fantasy, or horror. I also like to weave and garden (especially with, you guessed it, Andean potatoes!).&nbsp;

I'm Bum, a multidisciplinary Korean-American artist and writer working in tabletop games, fiber art, animation, and translation.I enjoy fantasy and science fiction, especially time travel and notions that bend our preconceptions about time.My wife Camilla and I traveled around the world for 495 days. We are currently living in Buyeo County, South Korea.

Writing, scriptwriting, andean ethnofuturism, nueva trova, improvised music, folk music, non white centric SciFi, decolonization and decolonising art

I'm a writer and cartographer. I mostly write scif/fantasy and have worked on some table top rpg projects such as the in*die zine and unbreakable rpg. I manage the integral states project, where I draw US states and territories as fantasy maps and pair them with pre-colonial histories.&nbsp;

Envisioning an alternative world

Shirley Man-Kin Leung

Community Organizer & Yoga Teacher

@shirley

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