i guess something strange about me is the way that i'm desperate to try and keep a record of my life. hell, i started this blog so that my poetic ramblings wouldn't slip away from me. it's a time capsule of my mind.
i really want to buy one of those cute little instax polaroids, but i know i'd go insane over using up the film. almost a dollar per picture.
what is worth capturing? what isn't? and who can guarantee that the photo will even come out good?
i think i just want to romanticize my pain a little bit, honestly. put it to some use.
picture this: me, standing on my balcony in the cold morning breeze without a jacket. me, holding half a cup of steaming earl grey, shivering a little. me, a little astonished at how alive it is outside with the cars going up and down the street blaring their music the leaves getting blown all over the cracked pavement the students scurrying to and from their final exams
picture that.
i bought the camera over two years ago.
i have over 70 photos taken in 4 different countries. there are too many to display at this point.
they hang in my room. in my cubicle at work at the job i thought i wouldn't get and then didn't want. it's not perfect but it's far better than i ever thought it would be. my name and degree are stitched on my coat. it's proof i made it-- if not where i wanted to be, but somewhere.
and somewhere means i can keep going.
