By Samantha Pak
NORTHWEST ASIAN WEEKLY
Everything We Never Had
By Randy Ribay
Kokila, 2024
For generations, the Maghabol boys have had issues connecting with their fathers. There’s Francisco, who traveled from the Philippines to Watsonville, California in the 1930s, after his father left the family; Emil, growing up in Stockton, California in the 1960s, who refuses to follow in his father’s labor organizing footsteps; Chris, living in 1980s Denver and working to prove his father can’t control him; and finally, Enzo in 2020 Philadelphia, who’s struggling to manage his anxiety as a global pandemic shuts the whole world down.
Told from multiple perspectives, “Everything We Never Had” follows a Filipino American family over decades and four generations in the United States. Each Maghabol boy works to forge his own path amid familial and societal expectations: Francisco barely makes a living working in the fields of California, while facing increasing violence from the white men in town. Emil spends his days dealing with prejudiced white students and teachers, and his nights working at his aunt’s restaurant. After missing an assignment on ancestral history and being kicked off the football team as a result, Chris makes his way to the library to learn about Filipino history. And when his lolo moves in with his family because of the pandemic, Enzo wonders if he can help bridge the decades-long rift between his father and grandfather.
It’s not often that I read stories depicting father-son relationships—especially in young adult books—so I really enjoyed reading how the Maghabol fathers and sons worked through their issues (or, honestly, didn’t), and how these relationships evolve over time, as each succeeding generation does his best to be a better father than his own. They have varying degrees of success and Ribay does a great job of portraying this realistically for their respective time periods.
One thing I also appreciated was how Ribay weaves Filipino and Filipino American history into the Maghabols’ stories. From the 1930 Watsonville riots, to the Delano Grape Strike, to the reign of Philippine President-slash-dictator Ferdinand Marcos, he provides just enough information to catch readers’ interest and have them wanting to learn more.
Boys I Know
By Anna Gracia
Peachtree Teen, 2022
June Chu has spent her life being “just good enough.” Good enough for third-place trophies and to make out with her AP bio partner Rhys. But not good enough to meet her mom’s sky-high expectations, or to get Rhys to commit to actually being her boyfriend.
While June’s mother wants her to follow in her perfect sister’s footsteps of getting a violin scholarship (full ride, of course) to Northwestern University, June doesn’t see the point in trying too hard since she’s going to fall short anyway. Instead, she decides to focus on making things official with Rhys. Unfortunately, that plan fails miserably. So June immediately rebounds into a new relationship with a guy who’s not afraid to call her his girlfriend.
“Boys I Know” is a story about a teenage girl navigating life. Whether it’s her romantic and sexual misadventures, or her complicated relationships with her mom and sister, June’s life is messy. Just as a teenager’s life should be—because she’s still learning. She’s far from perfect and makes a lot of mistakes. Reading this as an adult, I couldn’t help but want to take June by the shoulders and shake her into making better decisions. But that’s also what made me enjoy the story. June is a realistic combination of thinking she knows everything and naiveté that reminded me of what it was like to be a teenager. And honestly, it made me thankful that those years are behind me.
Gracia also does a great job of depicting teen sexuality as June learns things about boys, and herself. All while keeping it all a secret from her mom—as is the way of most Asian American daughters of immigrants.
Another thing I appreciated about this story was June’s perspective as a younger sister. As a fellow younger sister, I understood her feelings of inadequacy when trying (or not) to live up to her parents’ expectations (set by her older sister). So it was very satisfying to see June begin to really think about what she wants out of her life and figuring out how to get it—on her terms.
Kinda Korean: Stories from an American Life
By Joan Sung
She Writes Press, 2025
As the daughter of Korean immigrants, Joan Sung is torn between her two identities as a Korean woman and a first-generation American. Growing up, she struggled with not being Korean enough at home, and not being American outside of her home.
In this memoir, Sung shares her life story—from dealing with intergenerational trauma and family silence and secrets, to her time serving in the U.S. Air Force. She also shares what it was like growing up with a Tiger Mom who did not understand American society (and honestly, didn’t really try to understand it). And as Sung sifts through her experiences with microaggressions and the over fetishization of Asian women, she connects the anti-Asian hate that exploded during the COVID-19 pandemic with the racism and violence that Asian American communities have been experiencing since we’ve been in the United States.
Sung doesn’t hold back or sugarcoat her experiences. Whether it’s stories about having an abusive mother, being sexually assaulted, or her struggles with alcohol, she bares it all. It’s not pretty. But then again, that’s life for many people. Filled with ups and downs—and sometimes there are more downs than ups—what I really appreciated about her story is how, just by being herself, she bucks many Asian stereotypes, specifically the ones about Asian women being quiet and submissive. I particularly found her time in the military interesting as it is a world I am very unfamiliar with. And it’s not an environment where we typically see women—let alone Asian women—learn about their experiences.
And as Sung grew up and lives in the Seattle area, much of her story takes place in the Pacific Northwest. So it was fun to read about local locations and landmarks.