the tale of taking pictures

A picture can tell a tale of a thousand words. The pictures I took, most of with him, told a story of young adult aspiring to be reputable, note that, not a professional photographer, armed with her old canon powershot A430. She prided herself for being able to snap beautiful pictures without having to do it with an SLR or even an 8 megapixel camera, because her camera was only of 4 MP. And she needn’t to modify of beautify the pictures using any software because it is beautiful just the way it was taken.

She would trudge the streets of KL with him, looking for the best shot. He would be there, supporting her, as always, sharing the moment of when she’d stumble upon tangible moments that ought to be snapped and recorded. He would praise her for her sharp eyes that could always get the best angle, and encourage her passion with promises to buy the best camera and plodded her with photography magazines.

Now that he’s gone, so has the fiery passion of taking the best pictures in the world with the tatty, old camera. The pictures she took were too painful to even look at now, because they told stories of when he was there, smiling and nudging her to go forward. Stories that covered the million times he’d make her cry, times he’d hurt her with his coldness, times when she held on in desperation because she believed that he loved her despite the pain.

Maybe in a couple of years on, she will find the courage to trudge down the streets of KL again. With her powershot in hand and the eye for the best shot, but now her heart needs healing, and faith to believe in herself again, that she will be able to achieve greatness someday, just as he told he before.

Looking back at the pictures, it traced back at the moments of when the best shots would be taken, of kite-flying experiences, of KL streets packed with people, and two lovers bounded by a mutual passion.