A Starter’s Thoughts on Film Photography

By Nhi

New York City

After several months of reluctance and unfocused attention on an old film camera sitting at a corner of my small room, I have finally taken this little “toy” out of the gray bag, fiddled with it in my clumsy fingers long enough to finally absorb the marvelous beauty of something so ancient and distant to my existence. A film camera? How could I have got used to this bizarre feeling while growing up in a world full of fleeting moments created by digital cameras and smart phones that make the arduous job of capturing beauty seemingly easier than it really is?  Why would I nervously look at this strange item and endure the searing insecurity of my photography skill, while I could opt for the easy option of choosing the best one from many photos shown immediately on my digital screen? What creates this unwanted excitement that thrills me, persuading a frugal college student who likes to limit her food expense to fifty dollars a month into finding every reason possible to justify the money spent on rolls of film and developing them?

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The film camera that I am using now is a Canon AE-1 Program, which was first introduced in 1981.

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On Choices

By Nhi

To live alone and make the most of my time require disciplines.

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Sunlight peaks through my window

I am writing from a small room in New York City. I have an hour to write for myself in future, who is eagerly waiting to read about her younger self. To my disappointment, I don’t know what to write, as I am not objectively aware of what I am doing right now with my life. And as clichéd as these words may sound, I will have to repeat them – strong and loud – because it is the truth, so as to fully absorb that my transient life — the life that I subconsciously regard as special and meaningful — is also as mundane as the lives of others. We are all lost, sometimes lonely, doubtful and even ignorant.

“I am a lost in the world of adulthood – a word that I cannot define.”

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The language of love

Nhi

Speak to me, the language of love

I need to hear your voices inside

The dreams, aspirations and desires

Lurking somewhere, and never die.

I never write poem, because I don’t know how to and cannot. So I wonder if this is even one. It just came to me an hour ago, while I was waiting for the train back home. I quickly jotted it down in 2 minutes to pour  down my thoughts on paper and didn’t think too much about it. Until I read my friend’s poignant post. So moved was I, that I decide to share this.

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Roosevelt Island, NY. February 21.