Last week, I found my mom sitting in the library room, intensely focused on something in her hands. I walked over and she showed me something spectacular. It was a photo, of her childhood. The only one she found through all her searching. She was solemn today and seemed deeply drawn into the photo. Clearly, the photo was one of importance to her. It was a remnant of her past, possibly the only physical reminder of her precious childhood. As she stared intently at it, it began to "fill in blanks in [her] mental pictures..of..the past"(Sontag). And I sat with her as she told me all about every aspect of the photo. Her story came out easily, every person there had a story with the depth of the immense measures.
Only two people in the photo had pursued education beyond elementary. A handful knew how to write. Most of them were gone, deceased and the picture was the only physical reminder of their existence. My mother looked stifled, and confused, unsure of what exactly a "camera" was. She stood oblivious to the fact that that moment was to be eternalized in time. Strangely, she looked a lot like my sister and I could almost feel the urge to converse with her as I do with my sister. Suddenly I realized a new view on my mother, and I knew what it meant that she was someone's daughter, another person's sibling and another's mothers.
I could see my mother's family, their worn out faces strained from long days farming. My mother continued to narrate. One of the little boys, she had fought with in school, pushing each other for a spot at a small narrow desk. They ended up sharing, and that boy became my father.
What struck me most was that the one tall man in the middle of the bottom row wasn't supposed to be a part of the picture. My mom told me that since the family was so excited by this rare opportunity that they invited this random friend in. He just happened to be walking by the road when they were about to click the shutter. Because of that split second decision, he was memorialized. If he hadn't stopped by, his story would've been lost, faded away with time.
So now I look back at the setting before my eyes. I wonder if anyone will ever witness this scene again, or if I will be the only person to ever experience this unique setting. I wonder if after a long time, I will remember writing this blog post on this sunny Sunday morning. I wonder what stories I could recall at this exact moment...maybe about how we sang our hearts out at Church last night, or the touching conversation my friend and I had late into the night. Struck with wonder, I take a photo.
