Lost photos, self-discovery

I never thought that I would be learning life lessons from my camera. But during a recent vacation to Hawaii, I found myself corrected. My obsession over taking photographs would put any foreign tourist to shame. I confess that I carry my camera everywhere-to school, to simple dinner outings, to the mall and even to work! As cheesy as it sounds, it seems that I have managed to develop an overwhelming longing to capture every "Kodak moment" wherever and whenever it may be. Call me a photo-control-freak, or just plain weird, but it seems that this obsession that was instigated during high school when I was actively involved in my yearbook staff and has stuck with me since. So it would be no surprise that my camera and I would be snapping away during my beautiful trip to Hawaii.

Towards the end of my trip, in a mindless moment of bragging about my week old Hawaiian tan, I pulled out my camera to show my friend how tanned I had gotten over the past week. But to my great dismay, the only pictures that I was able to pull up were the last four I had just bugged our waiter to take at the restaurant where we ate dinner. Due to some inexplicable "technical difficulties" powered by the evil forces of nature and unknown to myself, all of my photos were deleted — without my permission or prior knowledge. I was devastated.

One would expect that my initial reaction was to be absolutely livid with the creator of technology and my useless camera, but instead I clamed up like, well, a clam and closed my eyes as I started to feel myself sinking into a kaleidoscope of pain, sadness, anger, confusion and regret. A little dramatic? Yes. But I did not care, all of my pictures were lost! I started thinking of karma, and wondered if my pictures were deleted as a punishment for my wrong doings in the past. As I sat in awkward silence with myself, it was in that simple and unexpected moment of stillness and confusion that I felt the presence of God envelop me with wisdom and humbleness in the oddest ways.

I expressed my disheartened feelings to my friend, and he simply told me to look on the bright side. If I had not gone to Hawaii, I would not have had any pictures. I did have a fun time, and I still had the memories and my ability to tell stories and share them with whomever I wanted to — a gift that he described to be truly priceless. Even though I would have liked to stomp my feet at that moment and yell that he didn't understand, deep down, I knew that what he was telling me was right. Who was I kidding? Why was I wasting such negative energy on something so trivial and fleeting? And why did I have such a desire to "take," "share" or "scrapbook" these photos anyways?

Inside, what I did not want to face was the deeper problem that was rooted in me, that the loss of these photos symbolized: the loss of me being able to control everything. Losing control of what I owned, my plans, my experiences meant, to me, at the time, that I would lose myself. Making myself more vulnerable and free… then I thought, "wait, why would that be such a bad thing?" I found that it was during these vulnerable moments when I wasn't held down with what I should do, what I planned to do, or what I was planning on doing, that I was most free to listen, to learn and to change. In my busy day-to-day life I often find it hard to have moments of silence where I just feel the peace of God surrounding me, and frankly that is quite sad. But the simple act of losing my photos, one way or the other, gave God a way to still the restlessness I have been feeling inside all of these years. God showed me that sometimes I have to put the camera down and just enjoy and relax the beautiful, the mundane, and the chaotic that surrounds me not only in Hawaii but every day. So I sat there holding my camera in my hand, still closing my eyes, thinking… thinking that all of this, and the cliché phrase "Don't forget to stop and smell the roses" made sense, in a twisted way.

I still find it strange that God chooses the most unexpected ways to teach us things that won't get through our brains otherwise. I won't lie: Of course I'm still a little bit upset that I won't be able to share my beautiful memories with my parents and loved ones so they can vicariously experience them through my photos, and of course I'm still a little bit upset that I won't have any pictures to scrapbook in that "Hawaiian Vacation" scrapbook I have been planning to make, but I will get over it. Because when I look at the larger picture (no pun intended) I realize that the lessons God taught me through my camera about my own life and about my personal self were far more valuable than any photo can ever be. And considering that a picture can speak a thousand words, that meant a lot to me.