06/13/2025
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**When I First Started **
When I first picked up a camera, I didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t a fancy DSLR or some expensive lens—it was my dad’s old point-and-shoot, scratched on the corners and dusty from being in a drawer. I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I wanted to see the world differently.
At first, I clicked everything. The sky, my shoes, trees, strangers on the street. I wasn’t thinking about lighting or composition. I just felt something when I looked through the viewfinder—like the world paused for me. That feeling was addictive. I’d take the same photo three or four times, hoping something would “click.” Not in the camera, but in me.
I remember one of the first that felt *right.* It was of my grandmother sitting by the window, sunlight falling gently on her face. She wasn’t posing. She was just staring outside, maybe lost in a memory. I didn’t ask her to smile. I didn’t adjust the light. I just captured the moment exactly as it was. When I saw it later, I felt something shift. I realized photography wasn’t just about taking pictures—it was about seeing people.
I started noticing hands. Wrinkled, working, waving. I noticed eyes—not just their color, but what they were hiding. And slowly, my photos started to carry emotion. Not always perfect focus or frame, but something real. That’s when I knew I was falling in love with it—not just the art, but the way it made me slow down and *see* things I used to ignore.
Of course, I made a lot of mistakes. Too many blurry shots. Overexposed skies. Missed moments because I was fumbling with settings. But every bad photo taught me something. How to wait. How to breathe. How to respect people’s stories before pointing a lens at them.
What surprised me most was how connected me with others. People who hated being photographed would open up if I took the time to talk first. Kids would pose proudly, while old folks would shyly ask if they looked okay. It wasn’t just about images—it was about trust.
Eventually, I started writing little notes with each photo. Where I took it, what I felt, what the person said. Sometimes a single sentence told more than the photo ever could. I didn’t realize it then, but that’s when photography turned into storytelling for me.
Looking back, I’m glad I started with nothing but curiosity. No training, no expensive gear, just a hunger to understand life better. has taught me that beauty is everywhere—in light, in shadow, in silence. And that the best photos aren’t always the most perfect ones, but the ones that make you *feel* something.
I still carry my camera everywhere. Not to chase the perfect shot, but to stay present. To keep remembering that every face, every street, every quiet moment—has a story worth capturing.
And that’s why I started. That’s why I still do it.
