I first learned about the concept of Christmas in my first-grade classroom at Castelar Elementary in Chinatown Los Angeles. I learned that a jovial white man donning a matching red suit with an entourage of reindeers brought you presents through the chimney. I learned that there was a 12 day countdown tied to pious reasons. After this brief lesson, we were broken down into an assembly line to design and create our own Christmas pine tree magnet as a class activity.
In parallel, my maternal grandmother, whom I had never met nor spent time with, was withering away on her last breath in a hospital bed mere miles away in Downtown LA. When our flight landed from Hong Kong in the winter of 1994, it was the first time we learned that my mom’s mother was already under hospice care. I did not know what the primary health causes were that led her being bedridden. We were not encouraged to ask nor allowed to speak about it.
That evening, after school, we all huddled in deafening silence inside a confining hospital room where my ma-ma was about to take her last breath. A jazzy Christmas playlist palpitated softly through the halls and walls. I placed my Christmas tree magnet that instantly stuck on the white frame metal bed she was resting in; it was my parting gift to my ma-ma, a woman I never met until that exact moment. The visit was brief. What felt like a nanosecond of grief now lived in my memory bank forever.
That was a defining Christmas moment for me. It was our first-ever Christmas on American soil.
I believe it is normal to feel a sense of loss and possibly grief during this time of year. We could be mourning the loss of loved ones, whom we hold near and dear whenever holidays come around. We could be mourning the loss of loved ones whom we never quite got the opportunity to know, to love, and to learn from. We could be mourning the loss of our very selves, the part of us that seemingly get lost in all the overwhelming traditions, expectations and emotional baggage that comes with celebrating a holiday season besieged by endless war, political tensions, and socioeconomic uncertainty. We all simply yearn for a seat at the table, where we can be included and acknowledged. It can be all too much.
It’s okay, if you unravel a bit. Because I know I am.
Moments of grief and hope continue to inspire my body of work and why I love to behind the lens. As a fine art photographer, most of what I capture is in isolation. I find those fleeting moments to be incredibly comforting. In a way, it’s a mirrored reflection of our internal dialogues unfurling into the abyss. I find myself opening up to these realities that stand in front of us and consuming it behind the camera. Whether we choose to confront or interact with it, that all comes down to how we choose to react.
Any action, big or small, can ignite a chain of reaction. It’s all in the Kismet.
With so much going on in the world, I want to bring us back to the present moment. Take a breath. Recollect yourself. Start small. Live your truth. Reach out. Cry into the pillow. Cry out loud. It's in the small, honest moments that we rebuild our strength. Live your truth—unapologetically. Extend a hand, connect with others, for we are stronger together. I find that we can only do our best when we are being and staying true to our best selves.
Sending love and light always,
Tommy