31/07/2025
🎞️ Summer on film
I’ve spent my entire life chasing the “perfect photos” … always trying to be in focus, perfectly exposed, editing for hours…
But here lately, I’ve been carrying around a disposable like I did when I was a kid, and that little plastic camera reminds me of when I first fell in love with taking photos
No settings to obsess over. No editing to plan. No screen to check.
Just a click.
And in that click, there’s imperfection. Blur. Grain. A thumb in the corner. A crooked horizon. But also—realness. The kind you can’t stage.
When I was a kid, film was magic. My mom gave me her old film camera when I was young, and I was hooked. Disposable cameras were these mysterious, clicky time machines. You had no idea what you captured until you picked up that envelope of glossy prints days later. It wasn’t about getting it perfect—it was about preserving something real.
And now, as a dad, a husband, a son, I find myself craving that same simplicity. Family moments don’t need to be curated or corrected. They need to be remembered. Grainy, slightly off-center, eyes-squinting-into-the-sun remembered. Disposable cameras slow me down. They make me watch instead of tweak. They remind me to be present instead of perfect.
So when we’re playing in the yard or traveling or celebrating, I’m reaching for the camera that doesn’t let me overthink. I frame it, make sure my finger isn’t covering the viewfinder, click and wind. And I let the moment live on—exactly as it was.
