I got my first camera sometime around 2000 or 2001. It might have been for my birthday while we were living in London. I was instantly obsessed with photography and can’t even estimate how many rolls of film I went through.
I’m up at my mom’s and was going through some things in my room (I call it my room but I never actually lived in this house) when I came across a drawer full of old pictures. Most of them were just blurry snapshots from school or sleepovers with my friends. I am the type of person who is easily lost in nostalgia, so it was nice to look through them. I am also the type of person whose awkward phase lasted several years longer than is generally acceptable, so they were also somewhat cringe-inducing.
I found a few gems from some of my travels in Europe with the family. I giggled at many of them – poorly composed, half of a stranger’s body in the foreground, tops of buildings cut off, the usual mistakes people make. Of course, I was 11 years old and didn’t know what I was doing so I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. I also found a few kind of cool pictures. I will call them happy accidents.
That is my mom sitting on the bench and my dad holding the sheep.
I’ve always felt more confident expressing my emotions through words. I don’t think that is any secret with people who know me best. I’d rather think than talk, and I’d rather write than think or be alone with my thoughts. I get out of bed a lot to quickly jot down lines that run through my head – to get them on paper before they float away.
I love photography because it’s another way to feel connected to something without having to formulate a verbal emotion. Sure, I’m taking pictures of buildings or flowers or inanimate objects that don’t have any feelings to relate to, but it’s still a type of expression and I find the process therapeutic.
I’m really glad I found these pictures.