Rebecca Barraclough

When I was eight years old, my family moved from the Philippines to Canada. We landed in Saskatchewan—a place so different from what I knew, it felt like stepping into another world. I didn’t speak English then; Tagalog was the only language I knew. The snow, the silence, the unfamiliar faces—it was all a culture shock. I was a shy child, and without the words to communicate, I often felt invisible in the classroom and lost in translation among my peers.

There was a woman in our town who didn’t need me to speak English. She didn’t need me to say anything at all. With her, I learned to paint. She had a collection of old greeting cards, and together we recreated the images on them with watercolor. That’s where my love for art began—sitting quietly next to someone who saw me, not for what I couldn’t say, but for what I could create.

From that first experience, art became a bridge—between cultures, between people, and between parts of myself I hadn’t yet discovered. As I grew older, I explored more mediums—sculpting, carving, printmaking. Each new material brought new challenges and new forms of expression. Even as I chose not to pursue art as a profession—my passion for education and science pulled me in another direction—art never left me.

Now, as a mother and wife, I find myself returning to it more than ever. Not for grades or galleries, but for self-care, for joy, and to see what I can create with my hands and heart. Art is therapy for me. It helps me let go of stress, process the trials of daily life, and connect with something deeply personal and healing.

Art was my first language in a new country. And today, it remains a constant—quiet, colorful, and always waiting for me to pick up the brush again.

#tagalog #painting #mentalhealth #abundance #voice