Growing up I knew I had family in Panama. I was born in Puerto Rico and six years into my life we migrated to the states. I had memories of visits and boxes of gifts my family from Panama would send to us in the hopes to connect. Those occasional visits and gifts were precious to me but something I found even more important were photos of them, especially my grandparents. From the time I was born to now I have only seen my grandparents three times. Every birthday, Christmas, Easter or graduation had to be recorded to send to them, and their reactions had to be recorded and sent back to us.  My abuelos’ house is filled with pictures, ones from times gone by and of family members near and far. She has a glass table where she has all the pictures of her grandchildren neatly placed with prayer candles in the surrounding areas. I often think of the pictures I missed out on seeing, as I know what she has out is only a small part of her true collection. Since our last visit I save every picture I can of my family. 

Every year my Abuelita sends me a birthday recording and recently she has sent me one for each holiday. These recordings and pictures I receive mean everything to me, and yet I still feel so distant from it all. Some of these photos I receive are old; they're of people I know I would have loved but never was able to meet. Molas are patterns typically made of fabric using reverse applique techniques, the Guna natives of Panama use the Molas as a form of protection from negative spirits, as they become lost in the pattern. I use these same patterns to protect my family from negativity as I can’t be there to do it myself. Although their images are obscured, I still am aware of their presence. The images show my desire to connect with my family but the obscurity shows how I fail at this in many ways. Ideas of loss and possibilities for what could have been are represented with the Panamanian Tembleque style orchid flowers, three traditional Tembleques sitting on the inside, and the paper ones pouring outside of the suitcase represent the important occasions we’ve missed together. The poison dart frogs of Panama were something I always connected with home and family. They are these little creatures that carry so much power with their poison and yet all it takes for that natural defense to go away is to cut them off from the natural diet. The frogs seen around the suitcase are a representation of my family that has endeavored to make the travels to the United States, and their children they had once they made it. The upholstery inside the suitcase shows a lineage of these frogs as they travel away from what they knew most. The recordings playing are of my Abuelita and Abuelito end with a song my Abuelita and much of Latino America sings on birthdays “Las Mañanitas” a song that sings about the early morning welcoming you. One of the last verses sings “De las estrellas del cielo tengo que bajarte dos una para saludarte y otra para decirte adiós,” which translates to “Of the stars in the sky I have to lower two for you One with which to greet you and the other to wish you goodbye