For My Mother’s Mother

In the kitchen, Mama sings a lullaby that Grandma used to sing to her when she was younger while tending to pink roses she bought in memory of Grandma (pink was always her favourite). Yes, that's her voice you hear singing in her native language, Tagalog.

Sometimes I forget my mother, too, is a daughter.

This one is for my mom and my late Grandma: two fierce, selfless Asian immigrant women who raised me, who taught me to understand and appreciate my heritage and roots, to persevere, to kill with kindness. They were the first and two of the most important storytellers in my life, and the reason why I’ve always emphasized the importance and value of storytelling.

Storytelling held my family together, even when we were miles apart. My Grandma, who suffered from two major strokes, was a victim of dementia for many years before she passed away this past April. Imagine looking into the eyes of one of the loves of your life, only to find they're looking back at you as if you're a stranger. But storytelling kept the pieces of any memory that remained in the deteriorating mind of my Grandma - and my Grandpa, who is now also slowly losing his memory - intact.

When I was 15, I painted my grandparents for their 50th anniversary in the Philippines. It was based on my mom's and Grandpa’s favourite photo of them. Nowadays, whenever he'd look at the photo, he'd ask, "Who is that beautiful woman? Is that my wife?” A question that alone resonates the power of art and of the stories behind it, and how we keep it with us forever.

Filmed in this video is a recreation of that painting - an art style I have not revisited since that time - and of me reminiscing my family's roots, the love, memories, and stories we shared. I hope those, too, will be immortalized and forever reflected within my creative work, and that this will remind you to keep your own close to you as well.