I did not inherit money, but my parents left me with a valuable collection of family albums. The pictures were the first thing I always put in my bag whenever I moved to a new place. I took care of my “treasure” year after year, decade after decade and “made an oath” to myself to pass it down to my children and grandchildren in the future the same way my ancestors did with me. Pictures are more expressive than words. It brings back memories and represents an honest testimony to bygone realities sometimes. A photo has the power to refute the falsity of myths. It is an alert that awakens the sleepers; a nightmare that will continue to haunt the perpetrators; a way to protect the narrative, and a bridge that brings back memories of the past to the future.
Taking pictures in the past was never as effortless as it is today. Back then, there was no “iPhone” in one’s pocket, ready to instantly capture a keepsake photo and put it in an album or hang it on a wall. Yet, each photograph, with its memories, carries an invaluable significance. Perhaps because our predecessors foresaw that the worst was yet to come, they realized the need for keeping tangible hard-copy photos that witness the hard times they challenged and the setbacks they faced. Each photograph tells a story from an individual and a collective perception.
Now that I hold this “legacy” in my hands, untouched by ages, spared from the ravages of time, and unscathed by the conflicts and wars that have ravaged countless lives, I consider myself lucky. It is true that we live in a technological era where capturing thousands of photos is as easy as the blink of an eye, yet mobile phones like human beings have lifespans and may suddenly perish, erasing all the memories.
“My Treasure” stands as a bridge connecting my past to my present. I kept it well protected in a sealed box. I carried it with me across places throughout different times. Of course, I haven’t forgotten to keep two photographs in my wallet. I might one day need to take it out quickly from my pocket if my grandchildren surprise me with questions about their origins. Also, I might need it to challenge someone who denies that I have strong roots here.
My predecessors didn’t just pass down this treasure to me, but also instilled in me the tradition of preserving it. This inspired me, from day one, to transform every “digital” photo I take with my phone into a hard copy, tucking it away in my heart along with all the memories it conjures, both sweet and bitter. These photographs are a valuable witness to the “narrative”. In fact, it is the narrative itself, poised to confront anyone who dares to undermine its authenticity, falsify it, or mock its essence with deceptive sorcery.
Published on January 21, 2021
