the film camera

my grandfather had given me a beat-up nikon film camera recently for my birthday. i was just getting into photography and experimenting with film. i later learnt that this was the very camera he used to take photos of me when i was first introduced into the world, the photos where i am red and angry-crying and my mother is still looking at me like i’m the prettiest thing. i cherished it like no other, bringing it along with me where ever i went. but i only took photos of things that seemed meaningful or beautiful to me, only pressing the shutter if i really, really couldn’t resist. i counted the number of pictures i had left over and over as i twisted and turned the knob to take a new picture, hoping that it wouldn’t be the last photo i could take after every photo i took. and my camera carried all these things: the shortcut we used to take on the way to church, pass desolated fields of tall grass and abandoned things. my grandmother’s wrinkled, story-telling hands. my best friend’s smile. 

and then there was this boy i met.

i’ve already forgotten how he looks like now, and if we passed each other on the street there is no way i would be able to recognise him. but this boy, B, we met on an effervescent stage of strobe lights, heavy bass, cheap drinks, and underaged kids. it was my first party. i remember the dress i wore for this party, and how it reminded me of him so much at the time i had to give it away. i remember it so clearly because the first time he wrapped his arm around my waist, he pinched the folds on my skin that clung so tightly to my dress. he made a stupid comment about my weight, and the rest of the night became an uncomfortable excuse to prove to him that i wasn’t fat. boys can be so cruel,

but i digress - the reason why i’m talking about my grandfather’s film camera is because B did invite me over to his house the next day. it was a 2 hour journey from my place to his. i went anyway, and i brought my film camera along with me. 

i took so many photos of him. 
not of us, of him. just doing nothing at all.

and then, i left. i couldn’t do it. i knew i was going to be nothing to him. so i took that 2 hour journey back, and i comforted myself in the thought of being able to keep him still, in my photos. that i could make up whatever story i wanted of him - that he was kind and loving, that he fell deeply in love with me and we embarked on the most romantic love story ever told. that was really all my 16 year old self could imagine at the time. but he really wasn’t anything like that. he too, was curious, but probably for other physical reasons. i got home and found that i had almost finished my roll of film as i explored the camera’s functions and buttons a little. i see a little clasp on the back of the camera, and i push it. 

immediately, the back door of the camera swings open, and i gasp. i gasp for all the memories i knew i lost so suddenly. my pictures of tall grass and abandoned things, my grandmother’s wrinkled hands, my best friend’s smile, but most of all, i gasp for my photos of B. i knew i had lost them forever.

and yet i still stubbornly hand the film camera to a friend so he could help me develop the photos in a black room and see what he could salvage from the exposed film roll. he came back 3 days later, with all my photos. everything showed up, everyone showed up to the party. the tall grass with abandoned things, my grandmother’s hands, my best friend’s smile. 

“there are a few pictures that didn’t come up though,” my friend said apologetically. he handed me 4 photos. the last three were white as snow, but the first one, though it was extremely faded, you could still make out a little glimpse of a smile and a little bit of hair. “someone you dating?” 

i laughed. i laughed and i smiled and i hugged the photos to my chest. 

i always felt like this was my grandfather’s way of protecting me. from remembering the hearty mistake i was so willing to commit, from being caught in having to believe that this moment existed because it was solid proof. 

“no,” i said. i took a deep breath, and i have never been happier to let something go. 

he no longer exists.