Proof of My Existence

I’ve been really trying hard to save for a good, high quality camera. I’ve been so excited about it and picking it out. I’ve been previewing other photos taken with that camera and I’m silently thinking, “I’ll have photos like that one day… I just need to get my camera.”

The reason this whole camera thing got started was because I visited a blog. Well, it’s sort of a blog, it’s a tumblr site but it’s used in a bloggish manner. As with most blogs, all posts come accompanied with pictures. These pictures are of a little girl (the authors’ child). I love looking at the pictures and reading the posts. I often think that I’ll start doing that… when I get my camera. I’ll take these great photos and post them to this blog and I’ll write and everything will be great.

But here’s the thing. All of that is a smoke screen for what’s really going on.

The real reason (as I discovered late one evening) that I want a camera is so that I can document my life and myself. I want there to be evidence that I existed. I want there to be proof that I was alive and not just the memories in someone’s mind. The mind is a very fragile thing. Dementia is quite possible so, I might not even be remembered then.

I want something to record my life and say, “Here was a great girl. She was pretty and funny and she was smart. She did all of these amazing things. She learned about incredible things that changed her world and who she was. She had brilliant ideas and crazy ideas and, well, the stupid ones we can let go of. But she was here. She walked these streets. She loved coffee and books and movies. Here’s proof of that all. Here’s how amazing she was and how wonderful it was to know her.”

When I have my camera, I’ll be behind it. I’ll be taking all of the photos and it’s rare that I’ll ever be in them because it’s ME who wants the memories… and not every one else.

And I don’t even know who I’ll be in front of the camera… if I ever got there.

Everyone always has that awkward, “What do I do? How do I act?” sort of moment. So who will I even be when I get what I want and I’m in front of the lens?

Do I want to record that girl? Forever?

Yes, yes I do. Because even then, I – and everyone else – can look back and say, “Here’s that incredible girl, being awkward and human. Here’s proof of her existence; that she was here… and she is missed.”


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