“You had pigtails and didn’t speak any English at all,” my mother says, telling me the story of our move to the United States. It was probably the thousandth time I’d heard this story, but I didn’t mind. My mother, like many Filipinos, is an excellent storyteller—very expressive. She’d emphatically move her hands, shimmy her shoulders, and even do impersonations.

But I couldn’t see any of that this time because we were talking on the phone. My only visual of her was the word “Mom” glowing in white text on my phone’s black screen. I could still imagine every motion she was making and every glint in her eye, as I heard her smiling through the phone.

These calls, where I’d envision