This is a complicated day. That goes without saying. It’s not a holiday to be celebrated, but rather, a time where family feels like less of an obligation and more of a time of healing and unconditional love. Or at least, that’s what it should be. It’s hard.
I’ve been thinking a lot about events that have occurred in the last few weeks – between death, destruction, disaster, but also sweetness and softness and allowing myself to be vulnerable in the best ways. It seems like everywhere I look around, we are experiencing loss, both literal and metaphorical. It is heavy, eerie even, but it is also grounding. Grounding to know that we are still holding each other amidst pain. Amidst the traumas that ail us. But we are transforming. Regenerating.
I am thankful for the transformative powers of my family, both blood and chosen – not for our resilience, but of the ways that we change and grow together. I am thankful for my ancestors, my mothers, our hands, our hearts.
My heart is feeling heavy and my limbs are feeling weak. When I last told you I loved you, I know you couldn’t say anything back, but I hope you heard me, and I hope you can hear me now. You are a precious light that I will carry with me forever. Channeling everyone’s thoughts, prayers, and energy for my family.
We are suspended in the moments we hold close and the moments you will take with you when you go.
My hand is reaching but you can no longer reach back You are slipping And I cannot catch you.
Our collective strength is not enough to hold you any longer You are spilling through our fingers – Seeping out.
I just want you to be okay But that means nothing now.
I know that distance hurts, and time moves quickly, but we are here now.
We are distant but we are whole.
Mahal kita. Dinggin mo ba ako?
When I go to see you next, you will only be traces.
CAGE IN SEARCH OF BIRD // MIX 26 // NOV 16TH @ 4PM
Come check out 1/3 of Riko Fluchel’s Division III project, which I co-directed at the 26th annual MIX queer experimental film festival in Brooklyn!
You’d look at me with kind eyes and ask me why I don’t call you anymore, why I don’t stop by anymore, you’d ask me if I love you less than I did when I was younger.
You’d ask me if I’m growing taller and I wish I could tell you that the only thing that’s growing is the distance between you and me.
But instead I tell you that I’m not getting taller and that you’re just getting shorter with age, and that I call you when I can, I visit when I’m close by, and maybe I’m too scared to watch you go in real time, but I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.
I was reacquainted with an archive of my own digital audio debris this afternoon. It’s fragments of work from years ago, and I’m not sure how to proceed with it all. This may have arrived at the most opportune time.