We met only once, on a surprisingly brisk August morning in Cleveland. My parents were helping me move from New York back home to Chicago. You, Katyana, Andrew, and the kids made time for us, and we talked about how special it is to find Filipino community so far from home.
I talked about my desire to research and write about our diaspora and our experiences with belonging and intergenerational memory. Often when I mention my pursuit of academia and art with family and community members, I’m met with judgment and/or disinterest. But you embraced me and asked questions about my masters program. Through this earnest gesture, you made me feel seen.
I didn’t have the chance to get to know you one-on-one, but I am blessed to know you by your daughter and apo. I see you in their love of reading and learning, in the little drawings that Roz gifts me each time we meet, in her unapologetic directness, in Gus’s shy but eager curiosity, in all the meals we have shared together.
Afterwards, on our drive back to Chicago, I reflected on our conversation while watching the landscape change from farmland to city, the sky darken into evening. I remember thinking how Cleveland is worlds away from the islands, even from California. Perhaps it’s less that we find community, and more that we collectively make it, day by day, through small gestures that, over time, amount to belonging and an undeniable sense of home.
Tita Zelda—you and your family are part of my home-making journey, and I thank you for your lesson, love, and legacy. I wish tenderness for your loved ones as they grieve and make new ways of being with you after death.