Held by Tape

I was born in the Philippines, and I consider myself living proof of miracles. Faith means different things to different people, and whether those miracles come from belief or circumstance is a conversation for another day. What drew me to this place was not what was happening inside the Basilica, but what was happening outside its walls.

Every day, people gather around the Basilica of Santo Niño de Cebu carrying hopes of their own. While many come to pray, others come to work. Vendors sell candles, balloons, souvenirs, and photographs, hoping that by the end of the day they can earn enough money to bring home to their families. For some, that means having enough for rice and a simple meal. For others, it means making it through another day with dignity.

Among them was an elderly woman selling candles. The heat was relentless, yet she greeted everyone with a smile that never seemed to fade. Despite the challenges she faced, she carried herself with remarkable optimism. Watching her interact with strangers, I found myself questioning my own struggles. For years, I have battled impostor syndrome, constantly doubting my work and my place as a photographer. Yet here was someone who faced far greater hardships and still chose to meet the world with kindness and hope.

Not far away was an elderly photographer. His camera was old, worn, and held together with tape. He charged only a few dollars for a photograph. In a world obsessed with newer equipment and better technology, he reminded me of something I often forget. While I spend time scrolling through reviews and wondering which camera I should buy next, he simply shows up and works. Day after day, he continues to create photographs with what he has, serving people who want to preserve a memory of their visit.

The people outside the Basilica are often overlooked. Visitors pass by them on their way to pray, rarely stopping to consider the lives unfolding beyond the church doors. Yet their stories are inseparable from this place. Their faith is expressed not only through prayer but through perseverance. Every candle sold, every balloon carried through the crowd, and every photograph taken represents a quiet act of hope.

This series is not about perfection. It is about resilience, dignity, and the determination to keep going despite uncertainty. It is about people who continue to believe that tomorrow can be better than today.

In many ways, their hope mirrors my own. As they wait for customers and opportunities, I continue to pursue photography, hoping that one day my work will be seen. Outside the Basilica, faith takes many forms. For some, it is a prayer offered before an altar. For others, it is the belief that tomorrow will bring another chance.

They hope to be heard, not only by the Santo Niño on the altar, but also by the people who have the power to improve their lives. They hope for the assistance they deserve and for a future where they'll have freedom from the day-to-day struggles of simply getting by. Like the people in these photographs, I continue to hold on to the belief that hope, however small, can be enough to carry us forward.