The sound of skateboards hitting the ground, a sound so foreign and jarring five years ago, but so familiar to me now;

his shirt flapping in the wind, in his element, looking so free, like this was exactly what he was meant to be doing all along;

strangers: skateboarders, a business woman, a young couple, a security guard—playing peek-a-boo with Auli, as if it was an instinct written somewhere in human bones;

the familiarity of my native language, its rhythm and the ease of expression now that I can speak it everyday;

the comforting taste of a homemade meal by my dad;

time, time, precious time, spent walking, laughing, doing nothing;

a late night walk through Barcelona, just the two of us, in search of dessert;

being able to sleep in, because I have four other people helping me carry the weight of caregiving;

Filipino humor, in all of its particularities;

squinting through a viewfinder, capturing stories, art as a way of seeing the world—my way of seeing the world;

exploring art, consuming art; on not being happy about much of what I’m creating: “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like”