I dream of a house. It is light blue and dark auburn wood paneled with a dark blue door. It is the top apartment of a three story brownstone. It is a hotel room with a closet made of boxes. There is a mulberry tree out front. Walnuts fall hard onto grass and asphalt. Light dances in from the windows. 

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There is a family inside. The family is happy. The family is angry. The family sits at a large oak table with spanish tiles embedded in the center.

 

My father is sharpening knives in the kitchen. He is on the roof stringing christmas lights. He is asleep on the couch. He is snoring. He leaves for work. He is yelling. He is slamming doors. He is sauteeing garlic. He is frying shrimp. He is rolling lumpia. He is late for work. 

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My mother is never in her bed. She is at work. She is asleep in a kitchen chair. She is at work. She is plucking hairs from her bush. She is on a train. She is pouring scalding milk into espresso. She is asleep on the couch. She is on a trip. She is drinking wine. She is drinking sake. She is drinking beer. She is asleep holding her beer. She is holding me in bed. She is at the bottom of the stairs with open arms. She is tired. 

 

My kapatid is behind a closed door. They are sitting beside me in front of the tv. They are playing video games. They are sleeping. They are writing stories. They are jumping on the trampoline. They are building bionicles. They are sitting on their bed as I brush gold on their eyelids.

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I live in this house.  This house lives in me. It feels like crying. 

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I want to let you in.

like a house, this project is currently in development and under construction.

below are images spanning 10 years and an early version of the books that are the house.