When I was younger I used to get in trouble with my mother many times, for many different reasons. Many that I won’t mention, one of the simpler cases was because I always stole her pictures.
Let me explain.
In my mother’s basement, she would have a huge armoir, and right at the bottom, in the middle section lived two huge white boxes. To me, it was treasure, a time capsule and stories that I would make up whenever finding something new. There were albums too many to count, hundreds of pictures randomly stacked on top of each other. I was in heaven.
I would find pictures from when my mother was just a little girl, in her dancing days (she was in a performance group and traveled), pictures of me as a little girl with plenty of hair ties on my hair, pictures of my little brother Kiki being destructive, my grandmother in her youthful and glorious days with pretty vintage dresses, my abuelo playing dominoes in the backyard with his fellow friends and coworkers, the rat pack of all my cousins, together, swearing we were grown up.
I look at times like those, and it warms my heart, even at a young age, I knew those were memories that you can never get back again. That specific moment in time is gone, and all we have left for it is a simple physical object with colors, shapes and a smile.
I used to steal my mother’s pictures and I would cut them up, glue them on to books, make journals, write on the back of the image…punishment came with those, as they were to be cherished not destroyed. I then moved on to making scrapbooks. I was addicted I tell you. I had all types of backgrounds, stickers, borders and 3d clip art. I still have books until this day.
All through out grade school, junior highschool, highschool etc. I always had some kind of camera with me. I used to take my mother’s old film cameras and go crazy, I know I still have some rolls somewhere that need to be developed. Remember those instant sticker cameras from the early 00’s? Had it! I swear, I had pictures of friends stuck up everywhere in my room. I looooved that camera, just hated when my film ran out so quickly. (I was to blame for that)When I was about 14 my mother bought me my first official digital camera. Mind you, it was this small little thing at 5 megapixels. Whaaaat, I was snapping around everywhere. One holiday season, I took selfies (waaaay before they were even called selfies) with fellow classmates. Almost about 50 pictures with different people. I got them printed and included them in Christmas cards that I gave out. ( I was always a giver when it came to holidays). Everyone loved them.
Till this day, umpteen years later, I still get picked on by some friends and family members about how I always have a camera in my hand. Of course, now older I like to think I have better equipment than my Polaroid days. And I definitely have better control of the camera and what I want to be portrayed as a final result. Now, still addicted to images and writing ( I used to keep maaaaany journals as well) I’ve moved on to what technology now has allowed me to. I’ve been blogging for about 6 or 7 years now. I have yet to get tired of it. I actually find it more convenient, not only do I have all my stories and pictures organized, I get to to share them with beautiful people like you.
What I don’t like, is that nowadays we take so many pictures, and they stay hidden in computers or worse, forgotten on the actual camera and memory cards. Having printed pictures is such a lost art. It’s such a great feeling when you can physically hold a memory in your hands. That’s why I took it upon myself to start printing some memories. Now, I know it’s going to take me a long time to actually print all of the images I want, but slowly but surely. My first batch has arrived today, and I can’t wait to put them in albums. Not only will I flaunt them, (I have many picture frames hung up in my home of family and friends already) I’ll continue to lug around my camera, and I’ll promise I’ll annoy you, because I promise you, with my bad memory, I’ll be glad I have some pictures to cherish. And one day, I’ll have my own white boxes, full of treasures in a basement somewhere, a little someone is going to want to steal.