A Filipino mother’s memory bank

VIENNA, Austria — My children were born and grew up in Vienna, but they carry a heritage that reaches far beyond this city. Through them, pieces of where we came from, our language, memories, traditions, and stories, continue to live and evolve in a new place.

That is the thought I brought to “Belonging Across Borders: Art as a Bridge for Memory and Reconciliation,” an international exhibition at the Yunus Emre Institute in Vienna. It opened on September 23, 2026, and was organized by the International Cultural Diversity Organization (ICDO) with AC, Art & Culture, as part of the ninth Long Nights of Interculturality. 

Many of my photographs capture my children walking ahead of me through Vienna. I almost always see them from behind.

In one frame, three small figures stand at the edge of a fountain in Schönbrunn on an autumn afternoon, leaves scattered at their feet. In another, they sit shoulder to shoulder on a stone in the snow, facing a hushed white landscape. They hold hands along a tree-lined path on our way home, lean over a railing above the city’s rooftops, run through a cobbled courtyard in a bright red jacket, and pull rolling schoolbags past cherry blossoms in spring. Others find them beside a lake, on a busy city street, or crossing open grass.

Over the years, these images have become a kind of personal map of memory. Their footsteps trace the city that raised them, while behind them lies the heritage they inherited from another place, mine. They belong to Vienna, but they also belong to a story that crosses borders.

Standing among 38 artists from 21 countries, I felt that every one of us was answering the same quiet question: Where do we belong? Paintings, photographs, sculptures, textiles, digital art, and mixed media offered answers that sat side by side.

I was proud to see so many fellow Filipino artists in the room: Addie Cukingnan, Azor Pazcoguin, Janddie Castillo, Noel Bueza, Norlie Meimban, and Rey Aurelio, along with my husband, Harold.

From Latin America came Anna Kaufmann, with ties to both Austria and Colombia; Nicolás Rueda and Jairo Araque of Colombia; Martin Vásquez of Guatemala, Sonia Siblik, Paula Flores and Marco Grajeda of Mexico; and Maria Teresa Berrios, whose background connects Bolivia and Spain. Jorge Gonçalves Romero, with roots in Portugal and Venezuela, was there too.

Africa was represented by Sansan Michel Noufé of Burkina Faso. Yasemin Demir of Türkiye and Yu-Chen Lin of Taiwan brought perspectives from Asia, and European artists included Günter Lippl of Austria, Anna Rabko of Poland, Balint Andrei of Romania, Camille Tournereau of France, and Inga Pernes of Russia.

The exhibit opening gathered diplomats, cultural institutions, and members of Vienna’s international community. Among the guests were H.E. Salah Abdel-Shafi, Ambassador of the State of Palestine to Austria, and H.E. Ms. Maimounata Ouattara, Ambassador of Burkina Faso to Austria, along with ICDO President Josipa Palac, exhibition coordinator Alina Cárdenas Rey of AC, Art & Culture, and Halil İbrahim Doğan, head of the Yunus Emre Institute. It felt like a small version of the world meeting in one room.

Josipa, who founded Long Nights of Interculturality, said that “when we don’t know each other, it is very easy for stereotypes, assumptions and prejudices to take their place.” Her answer was to create a space “where people could genuinely meet, talk, share their traditions and stories, and become curious about one another.” I felt that in the gallery.

Alina, a Colombian who also lives in Vienna, describes interculturality as “creating a genuine exchange in which everyone has something to contribute and something to learn.” Having built a life and cultural practice across borders, she reminds us that “we can belong to more than one place and that our differences can bring us closer together.” 

Her words stayed with me.

Walking through the gallery, I kept stopping at the work of my fellow Filipino artists. Each piece seemed to answer the question of belonging in its own way.

Azor Pazcoguin painted a bright yellow typewriter against a quiet gray background, its keys and carriage built up in thick, sculpted strokes of white and charcoal. For Azor, the machine is a stand-in for himself. “I can’t always write down my thoughts, so I paint them,” he said. “The typewriter is a way of writing thoughts, and this is my way of doing it.” 

I felt this one personally. I used the typewriter as a journalism student, back in the days before they went out of production. Seeing one painted with so much care brought back the sound of the keys, the ink-stained fingertips, and the thrill of a story taking shape on paper. Azor turns a tool for words into a painting, and I turn memories into photographs. 

Both of us are finding another way to say what we carry. The piece is part of a  series that paints a bigger narrative representing Filipino generations and their collective mindset.

Rey Aurelio offered a stark contrast in his painting: a few pale eggs and tiny pebbles resting on a dark, cracked, richly textured surface. The shapes are fragile and still, yet they suggest beginnings. They made me think of the nest a family builds, and of how a home is made from small, delicate things.

Harold presented Reyna, a portrait of a woman with long, flowing hair wearing a golden crown that melts and drips down her face and neck. The word REYNA is outlined behind her, with a small club symbol in the corner, like a queen in a deck of cards. 

At the Finissage, Harold explained that he used the Filipino spelling, Reyna, rather than the Spanish Reina, and that choice is the point. The work reflects the Philippines’ journey toward an identity of its own, apart from its history of colonialism. A queen is a symbol of power, and by claiming the word in our own spelling, the painting claims it for us 

Janddie Castillo painted a Philippine eagle in bright, splattered strokes of red, white, and blue, with the colors and star of the Philippine flag behind it. Seeing that proud bird in Vienna, I felt how a symbol of home can travel with us and keep its strength far from where it began.

Noel Bueza showed The Carrier, a golden sculpture of a figure bent under a heavy, glass-like block, standing on a base textured like waves. Of all the works, it spoke most directly to my own photographs. We carry our memories, our families, and our histories across the water, and we do it quietly, step by step.

Addie Cukingnan painted a cream-white magnolia in full bloom, with a bud beside it and glossy green leaves, set against a terracotta vase and a rough black background. The vase is a vessel, and the flower seems to bloom out of what it holds. To me it says that heritage can flourish in a new setting.

Norlie Meimban, ICDO’s Art Ambassador, created stylized portraits of women with flowing black-and-cream hair. One cradles a golden puppy, another cups the earth in her palms among birds and flower outlines, and a third has her eyes closed as a hummingbird hovers near her among tropical leaves. The works are about tenderness and care, and about holding the world gently, which is how I think of belonging.

Palestinian artist Iman Hussein, whose background connects Palestine and Austria, presented “A Storm I Carry,” a painting of a seascape exploring memory, displacement, and the search for peace. She says her waves “symbolize human stories in constant motion, carrying memories, fears, hopes, and dreams across borders.”

Her waves and my children’s footsteps feel like two images of the same movement: people and memories carried across distance toward a place they can call home.

Ambassador Salah Abdel-Shafi spoke of why her participation mattered. “Palestine is a very vibrant society,” he said. “People are resisting, not only in the narrow political sense of the word, but also resisting through art.”

The exhibition’s message extends beyond the gallery walls. Through an online auction, ICDO has made selected artworks and limited-edition prints available to collectors and members of the public.

Proceeds are shared between the artists and ICDO, supporting the participating artists while contributing to the organization’s humanitarian, social development, cultural, and community initiatives.

For those who choose to bring a piece of the exhibition home, the purchase offers an opportunity to support the artists and help sustain the work of building more inclusive communities.

It also gives the stories another life. The online auction can be explored here.

At the heart of “This Mother’s Memory Bank” is a message that goes beyond motherhood or the Filipino experience abroad. It is for anyone who has built a life between cultures, watched a loved one grow up in a world different from their own, or discovered that home can mean more than one thing.

My children are in Vienna, making their own memories and finding their place in the city. As they move forward, I find myself holding on to the little moments that might otherwise go unnoticed: our walks, the changing seasons, and their small figures moving ahead of me.

Through my photographs, I try to capture this delicate balance between letting go and holding on. I want my children to have the freedom to grow, explore, and create their own stories, while ensuring that the memories, traditions, and roots that shaped them are never lost.

My children are my home.

And perhaps home, after all, is not simply a place we leave behind or arrive at. It is something we carry within us, something we create wherever life takes us, and something we pass on to the next generation.

As I watch my children walk ahead through the streets of Vienna, I am reminded that while they are busy making memories of their own, I am quietly gathering mine. Perhaps that is the most meaningful journey of all: learning to let them go while keeping a little piece of where we came from for them to carry into the future.