This is an imperfect selfie I took in Iceland, and it was good.
I had a dream on Wednesday that left me close to tears. What had caused the distress? A parent's death? An A- on my school final? (See, I can crack racist jokes too) No. Instead, I had been so stressed out because in my dream, I had forgotten to bring my camera charger for an upcoming trip, and my camera died as I was snapping a photo of the Grand Canyon.
Erm, okay...? Well excuse me, Priorities called and it wants its pride back. What an embarrassingly bad dream.
What is wrong with me? When did photo taking become so stressful?
I used to enjoy photography a lot and bought one of my first cameras when I was 13. I had saved up for a few months to get a $215, point and shoot, film camera from Mustafa Centre and absolutely loved it. I took photos of a balled up piece of tissue, a drain, a mole (the skin thing, not the Russian spy)-- basically anything and everything. I saw beauty in it all and composition was my therapeutic experiment. It was a pretty expensive hobby, though, what with processing at 30 cents per photograph and all. But it was worth it. I guess there were two things I spent my allowance on as a 13 year old. Photography, and jam biscuits from Marks and Spencer. Damn you brits and your delicious tea time snacks.
So how did I go from happily spending all my money on something I loved to waking up in tears regarding the exact same thing?
I guess somewhere in between, social media and me being overseas happened. Being away from family and friends isn't as easy as it appears. Sure, I get to stay out late or fall asleep watching Family Guy but it's also sometimes very lonely. An especially difficult period for me was back in Florida. Being 1 of the 3 Asians in my whole university with my school administrator registering me as:
Lois Goh Leyu
Singapore, Republic of China
really did not help and I soon realized the meaning of true loneliness--first world, middle class edition. It's not that I wasn't having fun. I was. But it was different. A huge disconnect still remained and the afternoons were the hardest. This was when the time difference had led the Singaporeans to bed but kept the sun up in Florida. Never having been a big fan of the sun, I stayed indoors during the afternoons as the harsh Floridian Sun beat down relentlessly helping me slowly realize that there wasn't anyone left to talk to.
But a quiet room is a wily temptress and I soon caught myself drifting deeper into the places where we do not go. Detractors could easily say that this is just another case of bourgeois loneliness and that I should appreciate the opportunity to have an overseas education and not complain about it but I say to them, this is not some sort of competition. My emotions are not up for sale.
There were so many instances when I would sit on my balcony, just wanting to leap off and end it all but each time I would stop myself because 1) I lived on the 2nd floor and would not die and 2) because there were a lot of squirrels in the tree below and I'm afraid of squirrels. Alas, death is not some frivolity meant to be laughed at and some times were harder than others. I had many conversations with myself about mortality during my Florida years. I realized later that I didn't want to die, I just wanted to end the loneliness. Eventually, I started growing an avocado plant on my balcony because I knew that procrastination and laziness would keep me from watering the plant regularly and this guilt of being a lousy gardener would discourage me from hanging out on the balcony too much for fear of seeing the product of my neglect.
Sometimes shaky but always scared, I slowly attempted to stitch courage into my heart. Although my thoughts and feelings were in suspension even as I was interacting with my awesome Floridian neighbors (hey Patrick and Whitney, my round eye gwai lo friends!) and my best friend, Lauren (favourite ginger), I kept pushing myself to keep on going. Finding the inertia to even interact with others was hard but it gets better, it does.
I took photos of every single thing we did and it started bordering excessive but I didn't care. I was collecting memories and my camera was helping me do that. I put my memories in my pixel pockets and started photo dumping them on Facebook because I could. I wanted to share it with my family and friends back in Singapore because it was my way of talking to them. Sometimes my sharing became obnoxious and ridiculous but I didn't care because I had started to feel a lot better. I was inadvertently creating mini conversations with my pictures and because the network was wide, I was reaping the rewards of weak links. Now I would be able to talk to anyone at any time of the day and it just felt comforting. This was my nexus of safety and so began the healing.
But in the process of using photography as a remedy, I had lost the joy I once felt with my hobby. I had started using photography as my means of survival (why so dramatic, Lois?) and not some art form to be considered and appreciated. I had begun to take photos for others and not myself as I quickly snapped pictures with the sole objective of sharing it later on social media.
So it was very interesting for me recently when I ventured to Iceland. For the first time in a long time, I had rekindled my love for photography. I'd somehow managed to find that balance between taking photos for the purpose of sharing later on and taking photos because of the beautiful composition and light. Iceland was a trip for growth too as a friend that I was traveling with helped me face old habits, and perhaps even correct them. As we climbed into the crater of a volcano and walked between two tectonic plates in the rift valley of Þingvellir, I made a conscious effort to put my camera away for a bit and just take it all in. Once I had had my moment, I took an imperfect selfie and another photograph of my surroundings. I had balanced it all and effectively made a memory for all my different needs.
And in that moment, I knew that my tapestry was complete. I had managed to clothe my heart in courage and my camera had been there to capture the moment.
-Lois
Erm, okay...? Well excuse me, Priorities called and it wants its pride back. What an embarrassingly bad dream.
What is wrong with me? When did photo taking become so stressful?
I used to enjoy photography a lot and bought one of my first cameras when I was 13. I had saved up for a few months to get a $215, point and shoot, film camera from Mustafa Centre and absolutely loved it. I took photos of a balled up piece of tissue, a drain, a mole (the skin thing, not the Russian spy)-- basically anything and everything. I saw beauty in it all and composition was my therapeutic experiment. It was a pretty expensive hobby, though, what with processing at 30 cents per photograph and all. But it was worth it. I guess there were two things I spent my allowance on as a 13 year old. Photography, and jam biscuits from Marks and Spencer. Damn you brits and your delicious tea time snacks.
So how did I go from happily spending all my money on something I loved to waking up in tears regarding the exact same thing?
I guess somewhere in between, social media and me being overseas happened. Being away from family and friends isn't as easy as it appears. Sure, I get to stay out late or fall asleep watching Family Guy but it's also sometimes very lonely. An especially difficult period for me was back in Florida. Being 1 of the 3 Asians in my whole university with my school administrator registering me as:
Lois Goh Leyu
Singapore, Republic of China
really did not help and I soon realized the meaning of true loneliness--first world, middle class edition. It's not that I wasn't having fun. I was. But it was different. A huge disconnect still remained and the afternoons were the hardest. This was when the time difference had led the Singaporeans to bed but kept the sun up in Florida. Never having been a big fan of the sun, I stayed indoors during the afternoons as the harsh Floridian Sun beat down relentlessly helping me slowly realize that there wasn't anyone left to talk to.
But a quiet room is a wily temptress and I soon caught myself drifting deeper into the places where we do not go. Detractors could easily say that this is just another case of bourgeois loneliness and that I should appreciate the opportunity to have an overseas education and not complain about it but I say to them, this is not some sort of competition. My emotions are not up for sale.
There were so many instances when I would sit on my balcony, just wanting to leap off and end it all but each time I would stop myself because 1) I lived on the 2nd floor and would not die and 2) because there were a lot of squirrels in the tree below and I'm afraid of squirrels. Alas, death is not some frivolity meant to be laughed at and some times were harder than others. I had many conversations with myself about mortality during my Florida years. I realized later that I didn't want to die, I just wanted to end the loneliness. Eventually, I started growing an avocado plant on my balcony because I knew that procrastination and laziness would keep me from watering the plant regularly and this guilt of being a lousy gardener would discourage me from hanging out on the balcony too much for fear of seeing the product of my neglect.
Sometimes shaky but always scared, I slowly attempted to stitch courage into my heart. Although my thoughts and feelings were in suspension even as I was interacting with my awesome Floridian neighbors (hey Patrick and Whitney, my round eye gwai lo friends!) and my best friend, Lauren (favourite ginger), I kept pushing myself to keep on going. Finding the inertia to even interact with others was hard but it gets better, it does.
I took photos of every single thing we did and it started bordering excessive but I didn't care. I was collecting memories and my camera was helping me do that. I put my memories in my pixel pockets and started photo dumping them on Facebook because I could. I wanted to share it with my family and friends back in Singapore because it was my way of talking to them. Sometimes my sharing became obnoxious and ridiculous but I didn't care because I had started to feel a lot better. I was inadvertently creating mini conversations with my pictures and because the network was wide, I was reaping the rewards of weak links. Now I would be able to talk to anyone at any time of the day and it just felt comforting. This was my nexus of safety and so began the healing.
But in the process of using photography as a remedy, I had lost the joy I once felt with my hobby. I had started using photography as my means of survival (why so dramatic, Lois?) and not some art form to be considered and appreciated. I had begun to take photos for others and not myself as I quickly snapped pictures with the sole objective of sharing it later on social media.
So it was very interesting for me recently when I ventured to Iceland. For the first time in a long time, I had rekindled my love for photography. I'd somehow managed to find that balance between taking photos for the purpose of sharing later on and taking photos because of the beautiful composition and light. Iceland was a trip for growth too as a friend that I was traveling with helped me face old habits, and perhaps even correct them. As we climbed into the crater of a volcano and walked between two tectonic plates in the rift valley of Þingvellir, I made a conscious effort to put my camera away for a bit and just take it all in. Once I had had my moment, I took an imperfect selfie and another photograph of my surroundings. I had balanced it all and effectively made a memory for all my different needs.
And in that moment, I knew that my tapestry was complete. I had managed to clothe my heart in courage and my camera had been there to capture the moment.
-Lois