In the quiet haze of a dust-laden garage, where tools whispered stories and sunlight filtered through decades of stillness, he dreamed aloud — not of grandeur, but of freedom. He arrived in 1998, seeking a foothold, bringing his older children and ex-wife, planting roots that have branched into a thriving family with nine grandchildren, all born on this soil. His youngest daughter, born just as thoughts of returning flickered, anchored him to this place, transforming fear into resolve. For the past 35 years, he’s worked on cars—a craft he loves—and today, he continues that work in a small, dusty garage that doubles as both sanctuary and cell. The dust makes him cough, but the doors stay shut. He doesn’t open them, fearing what might happen if he does. Still, his spirit remains hopeful. He dreams of a large auto shop one day, a place where his skills can breathe and grow. What he wants most is simple and powerful: “I want to see all people, not scared, living good, free, and outside.” His story is one of many, a reminder that behind every label or headline are real people, dreaming of a world where they can simply live.
Na Forest Lim (they/them) is an autistic, queer, and trans artist, film director, and photojournalist from South Korea, who practices sustainable poetic living in Waawiyaatanong, using visual storytelling to tenderly lift up the resilience of marginalized communities.
This article appears in May 28 – Jun 3, 2025.