Ebbs and flows

My hiking friends have teased me about my compact camera for the last few years. One of them, who used to be a photographer, reminded me that the camera was discontinued in 2016. I mocked him that I had made a very good decision to buy it in early 2015 then. Another one remarked that nobody would use such a ‘historical’ camera anymore and suggested I get an iPhone or the new HUAWEI, as they produced images better than the real thing. I chuckled and told her that I could not convince myself to spend that kind of money on a mobile phone.

In October 2023, during a hike, the shutter button of the camera occasionally failed to respond. I was embarrassed because my friends had to hold their poses whenever it misbehaved, and I had to restart the camera. I finally announced that it was going to retire soon. This camera had served me well, beyond my expectations, and it was about time to get a new one.

The next month, during a solo hike, I discovered that if I pressed the shutter button gently and allowed the lens to focus on the object slowly, the camera worked OK. However, I could not take continuous shots and had to wait about 5 seconds before it was ready for the next shot. I realised it had been with me for nine years; it would be nice to let it serve me until it finally shut itself down. So, this humble camera accompanied me whenever I hiked for the following year. With it, I took more than three thousand photos. I was amazed by its endurance.

Last December, I finally succeeded in urging myself to take a short walk near a reservoir after a 4-month hiatus from hiking. I started at 11:00 am. The sky was grey, and the air was cool. I hardly met anyone as I strolled along the catchment channel. I saw this as an opportunity to take some photos. Yet, after taking the first photo of the flowing water in the catchment channel, I realised that the camera’s mission had come to an end. The focus mechanism was broken, and the lens took a long time to focus on an object. It squeaked as the lens kept zooming in and out to search for a target. Worse, it could only focus on an object placed in the middle of the frame, and the shutter button frequently failed to respond no matter how gently or heavily I pressed it. Still, many photos lost focus when the shutter eventually fired. I brooded and thought that it was a waste of time to take the camera out.

Looking at the camera again, I felt annoyed, but at the same time, grateful that this battered camera could end its service on a mission rather than under a layer of dust. Refocusing back on the running water, the reflections of light on the ripples were soothing and mesmerising. "Why don’t you try to take some photos of the flowing water as the last farewell to this old friend?" I challenged myself. I did. I took more than 300 shots; only a small fraction of them were in focus.

I recall telling those who suggested I buy a new camera that I could not let go of it while it was still working alright, even though it required special handling. Actually, I don’t easily let go of things, people, and memories I possess, especially when their existence has intertwined with mine for some time. Admittedly, I am melodramatic, but why not hold on to them if that makes me feel better than dwelling on the sadness of letting them go when they still have some use? I have been to more than ten funerals in the last 5 years, including my mother’s. Some passed away with a glorious eulogy, while others departed quietly with little achievement to mark their once existence. Yet, who can guarantee their accomplishments will be forever remembered in the flow of time? With the ebbs and flows of life, who can foretell what will happen to us in the next moment? As the water flow dwindles, the only best thing it can do is to flow, to flow gracefully, to bring delights to life, however brief they may be. Should we be like the flow of the water as well?

Taking photos with my camera has been challenging for the past two years, but I am glad it has brought me joy.