Marrakech is the most photogenic city I’ve ever visited. The walls of the medina, with its ancient clay and red earth origins, transformed the day’s light and turned every nook and cranny into a work of magic. No matter what the hour, light just seemed to dance here. Walls, doors, balconies and seemingly inanimate objects morphed into beautiful tableaus of gorgeous art. It’s the kind of the city that makes you appreciate the simple things, like the way an old bicycle can look so perfectly beautiful beside a rusty chair.
There is a feeling of timelessness in this city, a strong sense that civilizations have come and gone for thousands of years before me and will continue to do so long after I have gone.
I can’t put into words just how much I love this dog. She brings so much joy into our lives.
Taken during a crisp February weekend, this photo symbolizes everything that I love about the city of love. Whimsical, dreamy and romantic.
Paris photography holds a special place in my heart. Robert Dosineau’s Hotel Kiss was my first real introduction to portrait and travel photography. I saw it during a poster sale at my university. During that time in my life, I had no idea what love meant but Robert’s photograph gave me something to believe in and hope for. The urgency in their kiss, the way the world seemed to stop for just that instant. It was the first time a photograph affected me in such an experiential way and from then on photography took on a new meaning in my life.
On the last eve of this 4th of July weekend, there sits a lump in my throat as the pop of fireworks reverberate around our neighbourhood. God Bless America is blasting on TV, the screen splattered in sprinkles of red and blue as Washington DC and NYC ring in this Independence Day. I am overcome with gratitude and awe.
You see, I’m in the final stages of becoming an official American Citizen. Just a few weeks late of the nation’s 235th birthday and on the doorstep of the celebration of my own 29 years, I will be swearing my oath of allegiance to this incredible country.
I am Philippine by birth, and Canadian in upbringing. We came to Canada as immigrants when I was 5 years old. Opportunity, warmer skies and the American Dream brought our family south.
Blessed by the love of relatives left behind, my parents arrived on this continent with nothing more than a few thousand dollars, sheer determination and an unwavering innocent hope for a better life. Like millions of others who came before us seeking work and equal opportunity, our dreams of stability and prosperity were realized. America (and Canada) did not care where we came from or the colour of our skin. It did not care what brand of English we spoke – broken or accented. It did not care what food we ate, how we dressed or what God we chose to love.
While studying America’s history in preparation for my citizenship interview, I was overcome with admiration and amazement. The establishment of democracy, the bill of rights, the systems of checks and balances in government; all of it is simply remarkable. The overwhelming show of American pride that once perplexed me as a Canadian means so much more to me now as I come to terms with what it means to be a citizen of this country.
I have a few more weeks to go before it all becomes official. Maybe then I’ll have the wisdom, clarity and presence of mind to express my feelings in more detail. Today, I am content with not having the words. Today, I am just very grateful to be here.
Cafuné is Brazilian Portuguese for “the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair”. I love this word. I love the accent on the E. I love the way it sounds when I say it out loud, nice and slow and round in my mouth. I love that there’s even a word for this gesture. So perfect.
I must have been Latin in another life. This word and I, we just fit.
While on an 11 day trip to China, my friend Jalin and I decided to spend a few days exploring the island of Macau. From the bustle of Hong Kong’s majestic harbor we ferried our way to Macau’s lazy tropical shores. Colonized by the Portuguese, it felt more like Mediterranean Europe than South East Asia. Tiled church squares, Spanish architecture and pastel coloured roads.
This photograph was taken in old Macau just a few feet from Lord Stow’s Bakery, known to have the best egg tarts on the island. Barring a few local visitors, we were the only ones on that street. The light was as warm as it looks. It felt like we had traveled back in time.
The Islamic Arts Museum in Kuala Lumpur is one of my favourite museums in the world. I was in KL last year for several weeks in transit to India. Unfortunately, my Indian visa didn’t come through soon enough to enable me to head to Kerala as planned.
My first real contact with Islam came a few years prior during my time working for GOOG launching products in the European and African emerging markets; namely Egypt, Turkey, Dubai and Israel. It’s a faith that revealed itself to me from a multitude of angles. Hotly contested in Jerusalem on the foot of The Dome of the Rock. Hauntingly beautiful in the early morning call for salah in Istanbul. Mysterious and shrouded on the streets of Cairo amongst burqa’d women in the boiling heat.
I can’t ever claim to know everything there is to know about Islam. And I’m hesitant, even, to talk of what I’ve seen and heard during my time in these Muslim countries. What I do know is that it’s a faith surrounded in breathtaking art.
The mosques, the calligraphy, the intricate floral designs – all of it is astoundingly beautiful. You can’t look at Islamic art and deny that it was inspired by man’s personal relationship with the divine.
This photo was taken two years ago and is a testament to Dubai’s remarkable growth. I had very mixed reactions about the place but no one could deny the exponential boom that the city was undergoing during that time. On a rooftop pool deck in a residential apartment building we were witness to the growth of Dubai’s concrete jungles. The cranes were so close that we could literally wave at the construction workers as we drank our margaritas.
When we travel, the simplest bits of daily life become magical somehow. The stray dog on the street, the fruit stands in the market, clothes hanging to dry on balconies and windows. Sometimes it takes a journey half way around the world to help us see the beauty in ordinary things. Travel is wonderful that way.
I treated myself to some retail therapy today. Sometimes it’s not about the “stuff” that you get but the time spent with yourself on a long Saturday afternoon. Alone time for me has been rare lately.
I found this little treasure in a bookshop. Leather, green, tall and skinny. It’s an investment in grateful awareness.
