Interview with Ryka Aoki

There are artists who write to tell a story, and then there are artists like Ryka Aoki, who write to save lives, stitch together lost histories, and offer fragments of joy to those who’ve forgotten how to hold it. A poet, novelist, teacher, and martial artist, Ryka moves through the world like a quiet storm, gentle, grounded, but full of power. A two-time Lambda Literary Award finalist, she has made her mark not only with books like He Mele a Hilo and Seasonal Velocities, but through her compassionate presence in classrooms, shelters, and queer community centers across Los Angeles. Her work has been featured in Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation, Transfeminist Perspectives, and The Transgender Studies Reader 2, not simply as literature, but as lived truth.

 

Raised in California and shaped by a complex mixture of cultural influences, Ryka brings to her writing a deep respect for memory, place, and music, often literally, as in her current novel-in-progress involving a runaway trans girl, a violin teacher bargaining with the devil, and a family of Vietnamese space aliens running a donut shop. What could be more Ryka than trauma, tenderness, absurdity, and sweetness, all tied together with a string of melody? Beyond the page, Ryka is a beacon for trans youth. At the LA LGBT Center, she teaches self-defense to queer and homeless teens, not just techniques, but dignity. She reminds us that while survival is often the first chapter in our lives, it is never the last. It is my deep honor and joy to welcome Ryka Aoki for this conversation.

 

Monika: Hello, Ryka! I’m absolutely thrilled to have you with us today, what a joy!

Ryka: Hello, Monika! The pleasure is all mine.
Monika: It’s been a few years since your last book, are you currently working on a new project that readers can look forward to?

Ryka: I’ve had some stories and poems published, most recently in Meanwhile, Elsewhere from Topside Press. But my main work is a new novel, currently untitled, which is set in the San Gabriel Valley, in the Greater Los Angeles area. It centers around a traumatized transgender runaway and a violin teacher bargaining with the Devil to win back her soul. On their journey, they also meet a family of Vietnamese space aliens escaping interstellar war and trying to run a donut shop. I am trying to convey a world of flux, adaptation, sweetness, and loss. The story feels like a dream that’s unfolding in a world both familiar and strange.

Monika: That sounds like such a rich and layered narrative. How have you approached representing these cultural intersections through your characters?

Ryka: This book covers a lot of cultural ground. I’ve been addressing intersections of sexuality, gender, race, age, accessibility… not because I was purposely putting them in, but because the characters were experiencing them. Kind of like He Mele a Hilo, but with maybe a bit more traffic. Plus, I actually had to learn to play a little violin to understand the characters, all while trying to make sure that when I finally give it away to the publisher and to other readers, I can tell myself honestly that I did my best. It’s been one of the most immersive and personal writing processes I’ve ever gone through.

Monika: And when can we expect this book to land in readers' hands?

Ryka: I am hoping to finally have the book to editors in a couple of months. It’s been a journey. I’m excited and nervous in equal measure, but mostly I’m just grateful to have made it this far.

Order from Biyuti Publishing here!

Monika: Many of your readers are transgender, but your work resonates beyond that community. In your view, what defines transgender literature? Is it about who writes it, what it's about, or how it’s received?

Ryka: Gosh, that’s a huge question. But to me, it’s less about what I can write as a writer and more about how my words affect the transgender community. People often get the "transgender literature" question backwards, in my opinion. It’s not about what the writer writes, transgender literature should be identified by how it enriches and alters the communities it reaches. A cisgender person can write about trans people, sure. But how does the community see it? Does a young trans writer look at this author and say, “Wow, if he or she can do it, so can I?” I’m not sure. The emotional impact of literature often speaks louder than the identity of the author.

Monika: And what about being a transgender author yourself? Does that shape your relationship to literature differently?

Ryka: Now imagine a trans person writing a book, it doesn’t even have to be trans-centric. Say it’s about tropical fish or Beowulf. If that author decides to be out about their trans status, what does that book do for the community? What possibilities does it offer to burgeoning trans writers and readers? How does it engender community pride and the feeling of cultural ownership? That, I believe, is the best way to think of transgender literature: it’s about how the work is received by transgender readers. Being out as a trans author transforms even seemingly unrelated work into a signal of presence and possibility.

Monika: Our perception of life often shifts with age and time. When you revisit Seasonal Velocities, do you ever come across experiences you would now describe differently?

Ryka: Not at all. :) At a knee-jerk level, if I were to revisit the book, I would definitely want to change things, but that is what the next blank sheet of paper is for. I think part of the journey of self-love is loving and trusting who you were yesterday. Especially for me as a trans person, and an abuse survivor, there’s a lot of my past self that I could choose to hate. But enough people in my past have hated and rejected me without my help, there’s no reason to join those voices. Instead, I choose to love her. I think I am wiser now, but I love, and celebrate her, for who she was.

During a class.

Monika: Your novel He Mele a Hilo beautifully captures the spirit of the Hawaiian Islands, weaving tradition, mythology, and community into the narrative. Writing about a place with such a complex and colonized past, especially one that includes the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi and the suppression of Native Hawaiian language and culture, can be daunting. How did you navigate the challenges of portraying this layered history with care and imagination?

Ryka: This is the issue with writing about past cultures. You never get it exactly right. You make mistakes. I think of Alex Haley writing Roots, or even the pains Disney took with Moana. You are dealing with a past no one has lived in. Even the historical accounts are imperfect, both from incomplete transmission and the projections of the storytellers’ own agendas and desires. It's humbling to write through that fog, knowing you’re always approximating rather than capturing.

Monika: Do you think your experience as a trans person shaped the way you approach these silences and gaps in history?

Ryka: As trans people, many of us know all about cutting and pasting our histories to create a personal story we can actually live in. We also know what it is to have violence-induced blank spaces in our timelines, I have years I simply cannot recall due to psychological trauma. That deep familiarity with fragmented memory has given me a different kind of access to understanding historical erasure. As a writer, I try not to be an accurate historian, because, well, all of the above. But I do try to be a human being, doing the best I can, with empathy as my guiding principle.

Monika: Your book Why Dust Shall Never Settle Upon This Soul feels deeply elegiac, grieving the pain and losses in the trans community, but it also pulses with moments of joy, tenderness, even defiance. Did you intentionally set out to hold both grief and vitality in the same space?

Ryka: With Why Dust Shall Never Settle Upon This Soul, I was processing the death of two friends. Trans deaths never get easier. In fact, as I get older, it gets harder and harder. It’s like, we’ve fought so hard, worked so hard, with so many people far stronger and more courageous and resourceful than I could ever be, and still? Still, the world is this way? Writing was a way for me to touch the pain without being consumed by it.

Monika: And yet, even amid that grief, there’s a kind of insistence on continuing, on living. Where does that energy come from for you?

Ryka: But we go on, right? Because what’s damning about being trans is you survive, and you get stronger, and suddenly it takes more to kill you. So you carry the sadness and loss forward. But you are alive. And as stupidly inappropriate as it can be, sometimes you find yourself smiling. Sometimes, you even fall in love. That resilience doesn’t erase the grief, but it stands beside it, just as real.

Order He Mele a Hilo from
Topside Press here.

Monika: In a world that often feels driven by materialism and spectacle, does being a poet and writer feel especially challenging today?

Ryka: These are the only times I know, so I think that is a difficult question. I’ve also been very fortunate as a poet and writer. Despite what I’ve been through, look, you’re interviewing me. I have books published. I have made so many dear friends through writing. I am still alive. I’ve seen many cities and even a couple of different countries. All because of writing. So, difficult or not, can I just say right now how grateful I am and how lucky I feel? And thank you, so much.

Monika: When did you first come to understand that you were a woman? Was the process of transitioning a difficult one for you?

Ryka: Well, sticky question. I’ve always been me. But it wasn’t until my thirties that I realized I was trans (we didn't have much info back then, especially before the Internet). As for difficulty, yes. But it was still less difficult than how life had been until then.

Monika: During your early days of transition, did you have any role models, transgender figures who inspired or supported you?

Ryka: At first, it was mostly a shot in the dark and conversations in newsgroups like the Genderfreezone, alt.gender, and things like that. I never aimed to be drop-dead gorgeous or a model, even though I saw images of beautiful trans women. I’m just a writer girl. Later on, though, both Kate Bornstein and especially Leslie Feinberg encouraged me, and I will always be grateful to them.

Monika: For many transgender women, the journey toward authenticity can come at a steep personal cost, lost relationships, careers, or community ties. Did you experience those kinds of losses in your own life? And what part of coming out was the hardest for you?

Ryka: Yes, I did, and in many ways, I still do. Family means a great deal to me. The hardest part was simply having to start over. And now, the hardest thing is realizing that I may never find the kind of peace and acceptance I dreamed of years ago, even love. Transphobia has pushed me to develop deeper connections with writers, artists, and musicians. I’ve found soulmates in music and on paper, safely, comfortably far away, unreachable, or sometimes already gone. That kind of distance can feel safer than the risk of being rejected face-to-face.

Monika: How have those experiences shaped your view of love, connection, and what it means to be seen?

Ryka: Through the years, it’s been hard not to become fatalistic about someone truly loving me in real time. And I do wonder how that’s shaped the way I see the world, which probably means it’s time for me to find a way to be optimistic again. I guess that’s the next chapter. Still, I hold on to the idea that love can arrive in unexpected forms, even after everything.

On stage.

Monika: The transgender community is often described as thriving. As Laverne Cox famously said, “Trans is beautiful.” Teenage girls are becoming models and dancers; talented women are emerging as writers, singers, and actresses. Those drawn to politics, science, or business are rising as successful politicians, academics, and entrepreneurs. What’s your perspective on the current status of transgender women in society? Are we witnessing genuine progress, or is it still just the beginning?

Ryka: I really hope we’re thriving. I think hope matters. We do need to be ready for backlash, though, and the media so often has a ham-fisted way of portraying us. Sometimes it feels like certain media figures are deliberately sowing misunderstanding, just for the clicks or the shock value. But still, I keep my fingers crossed and hope. :)

Monika: Yet, despite these advances, the so-called “restroom wars” continue, and transgender women are still being murdered in the streets. How do you reconcile this harsh reality with the more hopeful signs of change?

Ryka: Yes. I teach self-defense to at-risk queer youth at the LA LGBT Center. Some make it. Many don’t. I see this reality every day. That’s why we need to be careful about which causes we support, and whose banner we march behind. We must choose our allies wisely. If we move forward without bringing our most vulnerable with us, we become no better than those who would chop the T off LGBTQ for convenience. It’s hard, but then again, when was being trans ever easy?

Monika: The transgender cause is often promoted within the broader LGBTQ+ movement. As the penultimate letter in the acronym, do you think the transgender community is able to effectively advocate for its own issues within this larger coalition?

Ryka: There are always ways to move, both within and outside of Queer, Inc. But it takes a lot of work, dedication, politicking, planning. And that work continues to be done. As a writer, I do hope my work contributes to it as well.

END OF PART 1

PART 2

 

All photos: courtesy of Ryka Aoki.

© 2017 - Monika Kowalska

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