Ellen To
Copper Stream
October 15, 2011
Revised Essay:
I got my first
camera when I was seven years old on a cold wintery day. I was at my grandma’s
house when my mom and dad called me to the sofa and they handed me a plastic
box. At first, I thought it was a Hello Kitty key chain, but when I turned it
over, it was a camera! It wasn’t a camera that came in a fancy glossy box like
my cameras come in now but it was a simple five mega pixel, battery operated,
silver plastic camera from Kohl’s. I roughly cut it out of the plastic case, so
I wouldn’t get cut by the thick plastic and pulled it out in slow motion. There
it was, with this quarter pound camera, I could hold all of my memories here. I
could pause time for half of a millisecond on a 2-inch screen and keep that
forever.
All of my cousins
ran up to see my camera and the first thing that they said was: “Why does it
look and feel like a toy? Are you sure it’s real?” I didn’t care what they said
but it was the best thing my mom ever got me because it started my love for
photographing my family and my life. And with one press of the hand and a faint
capture sound from the camera, my first picture instantly appeared on the
two-inch screen. My first picture…an outlandish view of my monkey toes. With
that camera, it started my collection of my wide array of cameras such as my
silver Canon 8 mega pixel, then to my Canon 10.1 mega pixel, and now I
currently use my asphalt black Canon Power Shot SD780 IS, 12.1 mega pixel
camera.
All it takes is one
little camera to start my hobby in taking pictures. I take pictures of
everything and anyone I know. All I want is to remember everything I do in my
life. This once in a life time moments that you can’t always remember on the
top of your head. Yep, those are the moments. Like the time I jumped off of a
forty-foot tree-pole or that other time where I stuck my hand inside of sixty
year olds’ leg and then picked it up. It was supper heavy. Wait…don’t believe
me? Well, sadly you can’t take a picture while your examining a body, now can
you but that moment is forever engraved in my head. Simple days like those are
the days I want to remember. I constantly take pictures and every so often
people get annoyed but I think of it as a: “Hey, I’m helping you with your
memories too.” People don’t understand how powerful pictures can be.
Except my family,
they cherish every moment together and we never let go of any “Kodak moment”
opportunity. Well, figuratively because we use Canon brand cameras. In every
part of my family’s houses, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, there are
framed and polished pictures on the wall, four by six pictures hanging off of
the mirrors, taped on or stuck in a little corner, and frames scattered through
out the house, on the mantles, tables, and some times even the floor. My mom
always says: “Say gnaw day gal gaching gal sung seen” and roughly translating
from Cantonese that would mean “Wash the pictures of your family only”, and
translating from roughly to clean would be: “Print out pictures of only our family.”
But I always sneak a few of my friends without her knowing it.
Weeks later, to my
utter surprise, while cleaning out my hamster’s cage, my dad, in the blink of
an eye, appeared at the back yard door and he told me: “TURN OFF THE WATER and
come to the basement.” Being myself, I stubbornly asked what was wrong with
cleaning my hamster’s odor-filled cage – which I hadn’t cleaned for two weeks,
with a childish smirk. After that one question, he gave me the death stare and
blatantly across his face read: anger, frustration, and impatience. This was
the second time in fourteen years – This was the second time in my life of
fourteen years.
The first time was
a complete blur because I was six years old and wailing at the top of my lungs.
I think I yelled at my mom and dad about how I was smarter than them and how I
could do anything and everything I wanted because of my intelligence. My
stubborn, spoiled intelligence. My dad did not stand for that so he picked me
up and threw me out of the door – not literally, more so placed. Standing
barefoot, on the “beat up” welcoming mat we had out side of the door, my
three-year-old sister opened the door for me and she: “Say sorry to mommy and
daddy. So they are not mad.”
I wasn’t going to
go against that look again, so I shut off the water, leaving the cage out side
and Alfred in his ball. Usually, when I go down the stairs I listen to my feet pit-pat
but this time there was another sound. What was it? The dryer? No, it
sounded watery and leaking. The washing machine? No, that sound isn’t the same.
The water sounded free, flowing wherever it wanted too. I turned the corner and
my feet got wet instantly, my mom was standing there confused and angry. We
quickly evacuated all of our things out of that small room and I helped clean
up the mess after putting away Alfred in his coconut-scented cage. After moving
all of the beach toys to the other room, I found a pitch-black bag with the
gray “EXPRESS” logo on it. In that bag, contained two of my mom’s twenty by
thirty wedding pictures, framed up and now water damaged. I got this cold
feeling in my cheeks like all of the blood just left my face and ran some where
else. Just like the water running out of the photo frames, just like the
preserved memories running out and only leaving behind wavy sheets of memories.
Crease and wave, crease and wave, crease and waves EVERYWHERE.
I was the saddest
of all that my parents’ twenty by thirty wedding pictures were water damaged.
My parents didn’t seem as sad as I. How could they not be as devastated as I
was? Their wedding pictures were ruined. That special day led to my sister and
I and where we were today. So many stories were past around each other about
that picture and all it took was water to cringe up the paper. I wasn’t going
to stand for this so I promised my self that my first paycheck would go to
their pictures. And lo and behold, I got my first paycheck!
There were so many
things to do, to buy, and to have! I cashed in my paycheck with my parents at
TD Bank. In my mind, there were so many things I could do with fifteen crisp,
clean twenty-dollar bills. I could spend it all on clothes; spend it on a long
wanted bag, or just save it. I could use all of this money on myself. But I was
reminded of the ruined wedding pictures when I went to put all of the clothes
into the dryer, one night. I knew what I was going to get. It was a long lost
goal, promised years before. And what perfect timing, my parent’s anniversary
was coming up. Dinner and two perfect frames for the big one-six anniversary.
Secretly with just
one hundred and forty-six dollars in my hands, I walked in to the
picture-framing store on 21st and Chestnut. In and out of the store with a nice
deal was what I was aiming for. While walking in the store, I realized that
this store was really hot and the pictures in this store all had a different
story of his family in it, whether it was written onto the frame or the picture
itself. I found the owner of the store in the back just finishing up matting a
picture of the sunset to the engraved golden frame. The owner was a big man
with a graying mustache and goatee. I introduced myself and with an unsure
voice, told him I didn’t know what I wanted yet, so Mr. Allan escorted me to
the front of the store and pulled out at least forty hundred different frames,
twenty hundred different types of matte paper, and a list of sizes. It was like
a never ending maze of frames and then he finally asked me after seeing that
little frustrated crease appear between my eye brows:
“What’s the
occasion for the two pictures?” – He asked like he already knew the answer.
“My parent’s
sixteenth anniversary gift.” – I smugly said with a smile.
With that answer,
he automatically knew what was needed. After a lot of questioning between the
canvas print and the framed matte print, I don’t know if he wanted me out of
the store or just gave me a discount for knowing me for such a long time, but
we concluded the price of one hundred and forty dollars. So, two pictures:
framed, enlarged, and matted all by Friday. I chose Friday because Friday was
their anniversary day, sixteen years together. Mr. Allan handed me the yellow
receipt copy and everything was done. With a wave, good-bye and a polite “Thank
you, see you Friday!” I spent the half of my paycheck on restoring my parents
adored wedding memories. I was going to give them back their special day with
these pictures!
On every vacation,
heaps of pictures are taken and hordes of pictures are printed out. Who
wouldn’t want an eight-gigabyte memory card filled with pictures? Nonetheless
every year, once a year, my family goes on one big trip together to Virginia
Beach for a couple days which means one big family on one glorious beach. And
every year that we arrive home my mom chooses pictures to print out but there
is this one picture that will always hang on my wall. It’s a unique picture in
a unique pearl color fish scale imitation frame. She told me, "Although
this picture is dull and has almost a color-less gray horizon, my family and I
are livening our surrounding up with our bright and vibrant personalities,
shirts, and shorts."
Taking pictures on
vacation hold the experience you had and holds it until the end of time. It’s
all the matter of memory versus experience. The photographers in my family all
know that. We seize the moment to keep hold of the past on every vacation.
Pictures are something that will help us remember what we did down the road of
life.
Day-by-day, I take
pictures of anything from over sized pigeons and people walking their hairless
cats to my friends and family. I never let go of any moment. Pictures are what
trigger the past and shoot the memory back into the present. They trigger the
repressed memory in the back of our mind. Everything memorable moment should be
kept, big or small. Even in every moment you’re with me, pictures will be
taken. That’s how it is; I stop the present to look back at the past in the
future. Taking pictures gives us another way with which to share our lives and
our loves with the rest of the world. I will ceaselessly take pictures, holding
every memory in a book, and looking back to see what a picture tells me. I will
show the world my life.
Eight years of
taking pictures on my own, learning it all, day-by-day and still learning. With
the average photographer, getting the perfect light and knowing which
background gets the best of each shot. If you hand me a camera, I can get a
perfect shot in a heartbeat. Pictures can give anyone so much power. The power
to hold your past in a convenient four by six or an enlarged sixteen by twenty,
your most prized memories, no matter how small the memory they hold. Pictures
are taken everywhere, at home, on vacations, and…well, everywhere. All moments
in life are important, but not all are special.
