My mom used to have her girlfriends over for dinner. 

The ritual began at the doorbell, where I greeted one to four women at their waists. I looked up at literal giants; towering around a boiling hot pot, spitting out shrimp carcasses, sprawling corn cobs across the dining table. Not a moment passed without vehement disagreement, followed by laughter that shook the room.

I gradually learned to decipher these unbridled conversations as a snapshot of who these women were. The women I grew up with refused to accept the world as it was handed to them. Aware of it or not, they lived honestly in a world that often diminished them. Because of them, I learned early that those stereotypes were never mine to carry.

Beyond those dinner walls, boys in school started growing hair under their chins and peeking under our uniform skirts. They discovered that their bodies could
dominate. And they did. Later, someone told me my physique and femininity didn’t match what a photographer should look like. Someone who could carry heavy equipment. Someone who didn’t enjoy fashion. But the women around me never made themselves small, and that shielded me from self-doubt. As I walk my own path, I hope to carry that same refusal.

This project comes from frustration, admiration, and love: frustration at recurring challenges, admiration for those who came before me, and love for the worldview they raised me with.