To Seeing and Being Seen

As I filled out the application for a contributing photographer position at the university’s paper, I reminisced about the various photography gigs I had taken up over the years. Much like my electrical engineering exams, the first question itself was a curveball: “Why do you like photography?” I went to my top dog for an answer, of course (I’m referring to my ever-wandering, stupid brain). What started off as a way to annoy my sister and catch her at her absolute worst moments (my sister is quite strong, and I may be a big guy, but getting whacked by a bat is not fun), transformed into a party trick. I could entertain crowds, see them have fun, and above all, I could hide behind the viewfinder. Behind the camera was a cool place; I could easily evade difficult questions, and it made my awkward interactions with people a little less awkward. It made fitting in a bit easier. When I found my mind wandering during outings where no amount of socializing helped me transform into the magnificent social butterfly I am destined to be, from the ugly moth who would probably say “you too” to the waiter who probably said something like “enjoy your food,” I could pull out my camera and make myself feel a bit better. Having a camera in my hand always justified my presence, at least to myself. Somebody has to “capture those moments,” after all.

During my pandemic days (I'm going to start calling it that), I was terribly down (or so people say). At times, I was worried about classes, pending college applications, and more often than not, I was simply bored out of my mind. I caused trouble at home and made life miserable for me and everyone around me. I started posting some pictures that I had taken a while back around that time. Everyone was very happy about it at home; it kept me busy and, more importantly, happy. That is when I would express my slightest interest in having a proper DSLR. And my grandmother, before I could even ask for it, decided to buy it for me. I was overjoyed, of course, and sad too. There was something weighing on me. My grandmother had really seen through me; she had realized how important this hobby was to me. She had realized that it made me happy. I often like to think of myself as this mysterious person with many layers that nobody could ever understand. This simple gift had proven that I was simply wrong. There are people around me who get me, who know about the things that make me happy. And that, I admit, is sometimes too much to think about.

Coming back to the application and the question I had to answer, I was finally convinced that I could put real things in that answer box. I take pictures because I want to see through people, I guess. I have fun thinking about whether they are also thinking about whether to get chocolate milk or coffee after this stupid shoot, all of which are things that tend to cross my mind while being photographed. I take pictures probably because I see so much but know so little. What must be going on in my subjects' lives: are they happy, are they sad? Are they just smiling because they have to or are they smiling because they genuinely want to? Sadly, I can only hope to have answers to these questions, being a stupid kid with a camera he barely knows how to operate. After having all these questions about how real the emotions I capture are, I proceeded to make up absolute nonsense about why I take pictures. Hey, in my defense, why would I ruin my chances at the job by proving that I’m mentally deranged?