This Light, This Shadow
April 13, 2025
First Golden Hour
Canon EOS 6M IIRed Light Coffee Roasters sits quietly on Market Street in Galveston. That afternoon, the golden hour wrapped the facade in warm light, illuminating the coffee shop’s poster and drawing my attention to the beauty in that everyday scene. It was this moment—the glow, the stillness—that compelled me to take the photo.
(4/13/2025)
When I began my photography journey, I was drawn to dramatic, saturated colors—tones that carried emotion and spoke with passion. Growing up in the archipelago of Puerto Rico, surrounded by vibrant people and even more vibrant scenery, I developed a deep appreciation for nature’s palette: the golden sunsets, the lush greens, the cold blues of the ocean. As I kept taking photos, I noticed a pattern—my eye always gravitated toward rich, vivid light. Those colors became my obsession, my way of seeing the world.
But there’s another part of me. I’ve always been a bit of an old soul. Even as a kid, I would question why things were the way they were, and why I was the way I was. I found comfort in slow moments with my grandparents—listening to my abuelo’s stories, sipping coffee with my abuelita, and enjoying my tititas’ amazing food. That love for the past, for wisdom, and for how things used to be sparked my curiosity for vintage and film photography. As you’ll notice throughout my posts, some of my photos are vibrant and bold, while others are vintage and introspective—each one reflects a part of who I am, a glimpse of what makes me... me.
It’s been six years since I moved to Galveston. I came here for work—part of my own diaspora from Puerto Rico to the United States. And even though I’ve built a life here, I often feel like I’ve lost a part of myself. Not many people talk about what it’s really like to move to a new country. A new culture. A new language. I never realized how much of my identity was carried in my native tongue—until I found myself unable to express it. How much you lose when you can no longer speak your own voice...
The Light'
Canon EOS 6M IIOne of Galveston’s quiet alleys. My friend was walking ahead when a beam of light hit him for just a second. It caught my eye and made me stop. There was something about the contrast, the calm, the way the light landed on him that felt meaningful. Like a small reminder that even in unfamiliar places, light shows up.
I lifted my camera without even thinking.
(4/13/2025)
The passion, the vigor, the personality—the happiness, humor, and beauty—all start to fade when you can’t express your emotions fully. You feel like you're in a dark alley, searching for light. Like you're in an ocean of sound, unable to catch your breath.
A knot in your throat. A chain around your heart. You walk through this new world, full of uncertainty and unknowns. The hardship of leaving behind a beautiful life in pursuit of something else. But what? Was it to escape a sinking ship? To gain money and experience and come back later?
As time passes, you start to lose yourself. Your language shifts to one that isn’t your own—and with it, so do you. That sense of being an imposter creeps in. You grow, and they grow back home.
But you without them,
and them without you.
The yearning in your heart builds. The sadness inside never really goes.
So… who am I now? What are my dreams? What is my direction?
When the world I called home has changed—and this one still isn’t home—
Where do I belong?
As Darkness Sinks In
Canon EOS 6M IIIn “The Light’,” it was a single beam cutting through shadow. But here, as the golden hour fades and the sky darkens, it’s the city itself that begins to glow. The warmth of the sun gives way to the cool stillness of night—but somehow, light keeps showing up. In its own way. At its own time.
(4/13/2025)
But even in that darkness—when I didn’t know who I was or where I belonged—new lights began to show.
From that place of despair, something began to grow. New friendships—unplanned, imperfect, and unexpectedly deep. People who were a little lost, just like me. People trying to build something real in a world that kept shifting beneath our feet. Some felt like childhood friends I was only now meeting—familiar in a way I couldn’t explain. We didn’t have answers, but we had each other. And sometimes, that was enough.
Then, there are the old friends. The ones who never left. The ones who knew me before the doubt, before the silence, before the questions. Friends who walked beside me in the past, and still want to walk into whatever’s next.
And the unseen ones—the digital souls. The friends across a screen, across a country. The ones I’ve never hugged, but who stayed up late with me on calls, on games, in messages... strangers who became anchors during the weird chaos of the pandemic. Somehow, they became real too.
And my family—the loud, stubborn, beautiful chaos that made me. The ones who push my buttons and hug me tight. Who remind me of who I was, and give me permission to keep going.
To the ones I had to release along the way—those who left this world, but never left me. Their presence still lives in the spaces they touched.
These are my lights.
My reason to keep walking forward.
After the Gold is Gone
Canon EOS 6M IIThese were the first photos I took with my new camera—unedited, honest, just how I saw them. I wanted to start this journey with sincerity, no filters, no fixes.
The golden light is gone now, and the coolness of night has taken its place. But even without the gold, there’s still something worth capturing.
So for now, I’ll leave it here—until the light returns.
(4/13/2025)
And now, I invite you to walk beside me—through your own golden hours and long nights. We’re all wandering, carrying our stories, trying to figure out who we are and where we’re meant to go.
I’ve shared a piece of my world here—what I see, what I feel, and what keeps me moving. If any of it echoes something in you, I hope you’ll share your story too. Let’s inspire each other with the little truths that make us... us.
I’m not a perfect writer. But I write with sincerity. And if these words brought even a little warmth or recognition into your day, then they’ve done what they were meant to do.
Because even in darkness, there’s light. And even in light, there are shadows that shape who we become.
Thank you for being here. I hope we find each other again, somewhere in between.
Snapped what I could. I’ll see you in the next light.
