Camera Obscura

It's Latin for "dark chamber" *click* I have a photograph from a long time ago - moments in time which are now lost and all what remains is the memory of it, preserved through this photograph. And as we develop the negative, bit by bit - the memory returns not in the mind but on photo paper. A reproduction of moments, a replica of time itself and it allows us to journey back to that time. A voyage through a dark chamber which leads us to touch, feel and sense a moment which has dissolved into the vast expanses of the past. A medium for us mortals to feel immortal. A channel that provides us glimpses of anachronistic joys and bygone sorrows. So it is of no wonder that the 21st century's greatest addiction is not money, not gold but photographs. Our prized possessions are memories, recollections and reminiscences; and this compulsion and craving from being frozen in time probably stems from our subconscious telling us that we are mortal beings - ephemeral, transitory, and brief. We know that we along with our memories are not safe and will ultimately slip away and be lost to the vast expanses of emptiness. We are obsessed with clinging onto our memories like a treasure. We have understood that life is a beautiful adventure and that we as humans can cherish and enjoy this odyssey, all the while leaving trails of small breadcrumbs for posterity. And all that it takes to attain such permanence is just a *click*! "Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still."

- Dorothea Lange

Apollo And Cassandra

He knew this day would come… He knew it all along that one day she would end up this way. And it brings him grief that she suffers. But it isn't his fault that she refused him in the first place, especially when she worshiped him and then spurned his advances. He doesn't know why she didn't listen to him, even after all that had taken place, he told her to take care of herself and to be more cautious. And now, he too has to suffer through all her grief and sorrow. Her own miseries add to his own perpetual sorrow which stems from her inaction. "Why doesn't she heed my advice?!" He ruminates, and asks himself if it is too late to help her... "Is it?!" "What do I do now? Do I tell her that I foresee more ill-tidings? Do I tell her that this is but the start of unending melancholy? But what if she won’t listen to me? Do I let go and hope that she’ll make it through on her own? Maybe she’ll listen to someone else and they’ll guide her… But what if they lead her to the desolation that I predict?" It can’t be helped, he determines. "It was all in her hands and she messed it all up for the both of us. And yet it’s not that I don’t care… I do care for her and I really hope that one day she’ll listen to me. Neither she nor I now has the strength to go through more of these misfortunes." He resolves to not put further thought into her or her ill-tidings. And with one final puff of breath he decides to let his love for her go but not before swelling with pride at the power of his curse and the price she has to pay for rejection.

A moment's happiness

"Are you happy?", she asked him. He wanted to ask her back what she meant by happiness and whether she meant happiness right now at this moment, or generally in life. He looked beyond her serene brown eyes and through the beige wall that held her medical degrees and certificates which spoke of her psychiatric achievements. He peered into a void that his heart was and asked himself what he defines as happiness? And what makes him happy? What makes him enjoy life better? Is it family, friends, gadgets, toys, games, sports, etc? "Well... Maybe." he thought but he wished he was more alive. More capable of happiness and of enjoying the happiness. He wanted to be euphoric, to dance, to enjoy the happiness that comes his way. "Maybe I'm not happy because I don't cry a lot. Ironic but true." he though to himself. There were tears in him which he hasn't emptied out in years. Pain which he swallowed. And excuses which hid his despair behind a mask of indifference. "Are you happy?", she asked him again. His wandering eyes met hers and all he did was give a gentle apathetic smile. Stories from a book that I will never write.