As a kid, I always chased light. I photographed plant shadows stretching across the sidewalk, experimented with capturing the absence of light as much as its presence, and became fascinated by the way a single beam could transform an ordinary scene. While I am a writer at heart, there are instances when words cannot fully capture the emotional complexity of a thought or moment. Photography is another creative outlet in which I explore my identity and hope to gain an understanding of my community. Through these collection of photographs I have compiled since 2022, I explore what home means to mean as I live in the in-between.
Bridging Worlds
I could never quite figure out why I loved going to the airport as a child. Maybe it was the excitement of whatever adventure awaited me on the other side. As I grew older, though, I began to see the airport as a haven of its own. There are no expectations there, just people from all over the world passing through one small building. I love the freedom of being able to become whoever I want to be. The airport is a bridge between my two homes, a place where I can simply exist in the in-between.
Soaring through the Skies
When COVID calmed down in Manila in 2022, I would often travel back and forth between China and the Philippines during holidays and long weekends. I spent much of my time in the sky alone, often reserving the window seat although my parents would always nag me to get the aisle. I did this because flying was a privilege, and I wanted to see what the world looked like from above. Over time, these window-seat photographs became a visual diary of the spaces I occupied between different homes.
Rooted in Blood
Summer of ’26 was the first time I had visited Binondo in over seven years. I used to go there every other month with my mom to visit the temple, buy food for the week, or simply walk around. Back then, I hated going to Binondo. It was overwhelming, with people shouting and haggling in Chinese at every turn. Returning to these streets seven years older, I could feel the traditions in my bones. I may not have grown up surrounded by such a distinctly Chinese environment, but it felt familiar nonetheless. For the first time, I slowed down, taking the time to photograph every scene I encountered.
Throughout this archive, I’ve asked the central question of what it means to belong, especially for third-culture kids and immigrants who never had a concrete place to call home. In this confusion, I felt it was imperative to move beyond the idea that home had to be a place. Home can be found in people, in the family and friends who make life feel a little more bearable when the world seems to be crashing down around you. Home can be found in stories, through novels and music where characters search for belonging, lose it, or find pieces of it in unexpected places. And, of course, home is where you hang your hat, because it is where you feel comfortable enough to let your guard down and simply live.
Home is where...
I can find people to confide in
Traffic forces me to slow down and take photos
The dinner table is full of conversation and smiles
Neighborhood walks feel that like fairytale stories I grew up reading
I could do anything without a care in the world
Friends remind me that I'm not alone in this life
I put up photos to remind me of all the lives I've lived
Yearly roadtrips with the family where we watch a million movies, snack on chips mom would never let us have, and play card games until we couldn't keep our eyes open.
Friends that remind me why life is so special
Parks for family walks and talks
Stories make sense of the world
I keep reintroducing myself to my dog
Old videos are waiting to be found
I'd play with fabric samples in my dad's office
My siblings and I would doodle on car windows