My Connection with Film Photography (Part 1)

"Yes, thank you all for waiting. Thankfully, I didn’t come back too late."

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It must have been around fifteen summers ago.

It was an ordinary, sweltering afternoon, the kind of heat that felt heavy and unremarkable.

"Well, if you don’t mind something a little worn and imperfect, why not pick one and give it a try?"

The voice of my senior broke through the oppressive summer air.

The words came rather suddenly, catching me off guard.

Though my senior had always been kind and supportive, this gesture of generosity left me at a loss for words.

Perhaps that day was nothing more than an unexpected kindness from fate.

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At that time,
I was only fifteen or sixteen years old,
an age when I was still pondering whether I should continue with high school.

At that age,
I certainly had no financial resources or knowledge to speak of,
and even hard work and diligence were nothing worth mentioning.

Photography, this luxurious hobby, felt both close and yet so far away to me.

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My senior crouched down and began taking cameras out of an electronic dry box, one by one.

The cameras came in different styles—some looked more familiar, while others were designs I had never seen before.

Each one seemed like a veteran of countless adventures, carrying stories within its worn exterior.

"Go ahead and pick one. I’m sure there’s one that’s right for you," my senior said with a gentle smile.

I reached out my hand, my fingertips brushing against the cold metallic body of one of the cameras.

In that moment, I felt my heart pounding—thump, thump, thump. It was like winning a grand Christmas raffle, or that fluttering mix of nervousness and excitement when you muster the courage to talk to someone you adore for the first time.
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To be continued.
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