A Christmas to Remember

There's no denying it anymore. I am a klutz.

I meant to bring with me my 28mm lens, together with a standard 50, back to Taiping on my short 4-day stay, but when I got there, I realised I'd mistakenly brought along my 85mm instead. So the whole time, I had to rely solely on my 50mm ('cos an 85 isn't of much use to me - the kind of pictures I had in mind) and simply - in the words of one Tim Gunn - make it work. At some point, it starts to feel alot like one of those basic photography exercises where as practice, u're supposed to shoot at only one fixed focal length. But that's just as well. In the words of a fellow photographer friend, with a 50mm lens, all u need to do is take a few steps back and voila! u have urself a 28. Very profound wisdom indeed.

Christmas this year has been anything but forgettable.
For the most part, it was normal enough. Until, that is, my 88-yr-old grandma gave everyone the scare of their lives by suddenly slipping out of conciousness just as we were all merrily laughing away at the anecdotes of a cousin of mine who had gotten a set of panties for a gift. My uncle was the first to notice the old lady's head falling backwards and her eyes rolling up, and immediately rushed towards her. And from there on, it was utter chaos. There was genuine panic all around. Everyone kept shouting out for her, fearing that once she closes her eyes, it wld spell the end. We thought she might have suffered another heart attack and from where I was standing, it certainly looked like she was abt to breathe her last. I cldn't help wondering if she had deliberately picked this time to pass on, in the presence of all her loved ones, which in retrospect now, if it were so, can't really be considered a tragic death, can it?

Thankfully for us though, soon after we called the ambulance, my grandma slowly came around. She was weak but we know she's gonna be alright. Yet as relieved as we were, u can clearly tell that everyone's still in some degree of shock. My cousin - the same one who got those panties - cldn't stop crying for the next hour or so. I took photos. The camera was in my hands when the whole episode unfolded but naturally I wasn't in that state of mind until after I knew it was a "false alarm", so to speak. But even then, as I started snapping away while we were waiting for the ambulance to arrive and my aunts were attending to my grandma, my youngest cousin - who's all of 10 yrs old - evidently thought it inappropriate enough to comment in a disapproving tone "hwah, still can take picture you!"



So there once again, is the dilemma many photographers have to deal with time and again - to take or not to take when it's ethically grey. To a much lesser extent, it brings to mind the barrage of criticism that surrounds this picture of a dying child being watched by a vulture.
In this instance, I dun know if it was the right thing to do myself, but in my defence, I felt I just had to have this on record as it is gonna be an incident all of us will remember as a family in the years to come. Therefore, it needs to be a part of my storytelling. But this is all stuff I find hard to explain, so I didn't even try later on when another cousin also chided me at the hospital for - in his own words - being so morbid and wanting to capture my grandma's final moments. Yet in spite of my own understanding, I find it puzzling that I shd feel this sense of guilt afterwards.



Making pictures, or anything else for that matter, wldn't even be on one's mind when one is completely engaged on an emotional level. Perhaps if I can still photograph, it hints at a detachment. It says that I care less abt what is happening right in front of me.

I dun think I'll be able to photograph my grandma breathing her last when the time comes.