Liminal is my personal, visual perspective of my inner life as an immigrant in the U.S. from the lens of love. It is an ongoing interdisciplinary and collaborative project that I began in November 2023.
Through the practice of memory-keeping, I delve into the love that has healed and empowered me amid my immigration process. I gather memories by creating images, writing what my family and my husband express out of love, drawing scenes from memory, and recreating archival photographs and ephemera.
Aking Pamilya (My Family)
I was born and raised in Manila, Philippines. I lived with my parents and my four siblings my entire life until I moved to Seattle as an international student in August 2018.
Leaving my papa, mama, Ate (older sister) Faye, Kuya (older brother) Mark, and Lea was a difficult decision. They were my home–they still are.
Finding Light
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I returned to Manila in November 2023 after losing my job and the opportunity to get an employment-based green card. It was a period of upheaval in my life; yet also a chance to be with my family. A time to reflect, to search for light, and to pay attention to love.
Liminal started as a way to reconnect with my family when I returned from Seattle. During my first couple of weeks in Manila, I found myself asking questions like: How are things different or the same since I left in 2018? Who are my parents and siblings today? How do they express their love?
I slowly found answers on who they are and how they love by photographing their daily lives and noting down their words. As my collection of memories and pictures grew, my resilience deepened. I had my family to lean into while I worked on getting a U.S. work visa, which felt like a huge undertaking after what I had gone through. Their love reminded me that not only am I not alone on my journey, I am cared for too.
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Mama and papa regularly prepared food for me, my siblings, and my niece and nephew. They constantly embraced me and held my hand. My siblings checked in on me and encouraged me when I felt low. My niece and nephew taught me the joys of play.
​Michael, my partner, visited me while I was in the Philippines from 2023 to 2024.
In this image, we were enjoying the sunset at Manila Bay.
Manila Sunset
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I can’t count how many times I’ve stopped to watch the sunset in Manila. It’s a balm for my soul.
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Watching it and making pictures of it contributed to the joy and healing that I experienced during my time in the Philippines from 2023 to 2024. This image was an indirect way of photographing one of the sunsets I saw.
Despite the anxiety and trepidation I felt about immigration, I decided to apply for an O-1 visa, a U.S. work visa, as a documentary photographer. Michael and our cat, Luna, were back in Seattle, and this felt like the clearest path home.
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I stitched these photos of sunsets (the top image was made in Manila; the bottom image, in Seattle) to signify my dream to close the gap between my two homes. I dream of being able to travel with my family and visit my motherland often. My daily life may be in the U.S., but I can build a life where I’m still deeply connected to my roots.
Bridges
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In the midst of uncertainty, I focused on my family's love as well as the love that was beckoning from afar.
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Michael and I navigated an international long-distance relationship while I was in the Philippines. His love reassured me that I can trust in what could be, despite past experiences.
O-1
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My O-1 visa application was approved by the end of August 2024. I worked with a lawyer over several months to gather evidence that would support my application.
Left: I drew this image during one of the days I was in the Philippines. I had felt overwhelmed by uncertainty and cried many times. Instead of turning my camera towards myself to express these moments, I drew. Drawing felt like a gentle release from my heavy emotions. I learned to give myself love, and I continue to nurture it within me as I navigate the U.S. immigration system.
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Right: Michael welcomed me back to Seattle in October 2024. To me, this was the light at the end of the tunnel during that season. I was full of anxiety about my return to Seattle, from my interview at the U.S. embassy to get my visa stamp to the moment I had to face a U.S. border officer upon arriving at the Seattle-Tacoma International airport.
Free / Faith
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As an immigrant, I don’t have the same rights and privileges as a U.S. citizen. But I believe that I can claim and create freedom for myself and those around me. For one, freedom in my inner life, especially as I seek justice, joy, and love for those who have suffered.
Light, Everywhere
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Being back has allowed me to create pictures that reflect my time in the Philippines, return to photos of my family in moments of longing, and play with light as I continue to explore how to tell my story as an immigrant.
To continue the process of documenting my life, I’ve been creating portraits of Michael and Luna (plus my parents when they visit), photographing my surroundings, slowly introducing my work to Michael’s family, exploring new visual mediums, among others. I’m also excited to begin sharing with my community how love can play a role in grounding ourselves through difficult circumstances.
I call my parents at least twice a week. They tell me about their day, I tell them about mine. On some days, I cry to them about how much I miss them, and they tell me, “We’ll be back soon.”
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My siblings and I don’t get to connect as often, but when we do, we try to catch up as much as possible. My older sister, Ate Faye, has two children, and she makes time for them to talk with me when we’re on our calls.
Playing with light is normal in our household. I love it.
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This image was made in our bedroom one weeknight. Michael had brought out his new favorite flash light, Luna was sitting in the box that I painted, and I was lying in bed watching it all unfold—it was beautiful.
I made this redacted image of a building using white oil pastel. I wrote questions and thoughts that circled my mind during a moment of recollection and remembrance. After redacting the image, I photographed it under harsh light, which created these streaks of shadow.
Not only photos bring up memories—gifts and keepsakes do, too. My mom gave me a sheer white scarf from the Philippines in 2021, when she and my dad visited me in Seattle for the first time after I left in 2018. I wrapped this scarf around a printed image of my mom and me holding hands on our way to the Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila. She and my dad were dropping me off for my flight to Seattle in October 2024.
I recreate pictures through newfound mediums, such as collaging, to tell not only my story, but my family’s too. I am home because of love.
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News may prevail, but we have each other. We live and we love.
