Of Words & Photography

My mind is unquiet, with words gushing and clashing, and thoughts never-ending.

I wasn’t into magazines or comic books when I was in my elementary years. I wasn’t a fan of fairy tales either. From here you might think that I would just be another person who talks as if she’s a “unique one”, which is basically ironic, in a sense. But when I was twelve, I was fascinated with the thesaurus. I was patient from A to Z, took it out of my bag every recess and did my best to keep myself familiar with the words (however, much to my dismay, I cannot memorize all the wonderful—and tragic— words of the English language). All I found out during sixth grade was that the thesaurus could give you all the words in the world you want to hear, but never the feeling you want to feel.

And I loved how much of a paradox I was.

So that’s when I started writing.

I wrote with all the flowery words, which were a hit for my instructors. But as I grew up, as I went through hell and back with all the struggles of life that each of us have to face as part of being human, I understood the value of my words. That my words are not meant to impress others but to express my being imperfect. I realized that my pen knows all my secrets and my paper embraces my vulnerability.

I cannot put into words how much I am in love with working with words. With writing.

And much more with photography.

My best friend since I was in the first grade, Samantha, actually influenced and inspired me to look at life through the lens. I can’t remember how, or when I started falling in love with photography itself; but up to this day, I cannot recall a day in my life the time I didn’t love it. I can’t look at myself ten years ago and say “I’m not really a fan of photography”.

There’s just something about it that makes me undeniably happy. My camera knows all my secrets and stories that I want to share with the world—even though I am not that good. But I want to be. There is more to just clicking the shutter button or taking a photo of your dog. There is life in the picture. A story. An art. There is poetry in every single photograph. Wonderful, wonderful poetry.

So here I am, wanting to improve myself. Wanting to write and wanting the joy of words. Wanting the literature of photos. I am a snowball on the exterior but on the depths of my mind will you find the avalanche of both bliss and distraught and I know no other way to be myself—to be human—other than to write and shoot. Because who needs all the money and gold and worldly possessions when you can have the whole world on a piece of paper and on a photograph?

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