Take Your Time
When I was 14, I impulsively bought a 35mm Holga camera. Knowing nothing about photography, I shyly took photos that I thought no one would ever see. Once I finally finished my first roll, I dropped it off at Walgreens (which happened to not only be the only place I knew would develop my film, but also a place where I hoped my completely amateur photography would go unmentioned). When I picked it up, the man working at the counter dismissively said, “These came out bad, they’re only weird colors. Are you sure you even want it?” With all the confidence I had to muster to drop off that roll of film, his comment absolutely crushed me. I left the store without my photos, took out the other half-used roll of film out the camera, and gave my Holga away. I didn’t try photography again for another 4 years.
Years later, I found that forgotten, half-used roll of film at the bottom of my purse, and when I got the images back from this mystery roll, suddenly a whole life I had forgotten was right in front of me. While the photos were “weird colors” like the man at Walgreens warned, I thought they were beautiful. When I look at these images, I see memories of younger self reflected. I see my old home, and silhouettes of old friends. I remember the route my brother would drive me to school every day and see the corner of the window of my room, but what I remember the most is how alone and confused I felt at that time.
In 2014 I had no idea who I was. 6 years later, I am still just as clueless. As a teenager, there is so much pressure put on “finding yourself," and in reality, I’ve learned that there is really nothing to find. Instead, I’ve found that I have just become more comfortable living with the things that have made me feel so uncertain. Life is learning, trying and failing, and failing again until it starts to hurt less. We are all constantly evolving as people, and the idea that one day I will wake up and be the person who I was meant to be is absurd. Realizing that there will never be a day that I know I have reached “final form” has opened a whole new world of self-exploration. By accepting my impermanence I learned to embrace all the past versions of myself, and be more kind and forgiving to the one I am today. I'm starting to think that maybe an awareness of having no fixed self-identity can be an identity within itself.
Looking at these images from that forgotten, half-used roll, I wish I had gotten the first set of photos back. I wish I hadn’t let a strangers’ comment deter me from pursuing my interests, and that I had seen whatever it was I had taken for myself instead of being too ashamed to respond to some random guy working at the photo department of Walgreens. While they might not have been what I was expecting, I am sure they were still beautiful. Just because they meant nothing to that man does not mean that they were worthless. Today I still wonder what forgotten memories were on the roll of film I let him throw away.
These final images came about through my desire to keep creating during a time where close contact is prohibited. When creating these final images I pulled the writings and illustrations straight out of my journal. Repurposing these old photos made me feel closer to my younger self, and helped me reflect on both who I was then and who I am now. Seeing them as a merging of my past and present self, I know am still as vulnerable and bewildered as ever. I hope the final images convey that vulnerability and uncertainty that come with being a human at any age. I am young, and while the thought of inevitable change is still terrifying, knowing that I have been able to make it this far brings me all the peace I need.