To start taking pictures again.
I don’t know why, but it feels different this year. Last year, I took pictures because I was sad and wanted to find beauty in ordinary things. I didn’t care if the pictures were good or not. I just tried to capture what I saw as the essence of each thing. The reason why each flower, each piece of jewelry, each piece of metal, each ordinary thing, was beautiful, to me. The reason why an empty lot set for construction of a new hotel draws me there to lay down and look at the sky. The reason why I smile when I walk every day past the pair of shoes forever hanging from the power line. The reason why even a polluted river filled with industrial metal nails and rickets makes me feel at peace.
Now, I worry if my pictures will be good. If anyone will like them. I wish I didn’t. I used to not care, because to me, if I captured that thing—that essence—it was beautiful.