.jpg)
The Victoria Home for Incurables in Colombo, Sri Lanka, is for people with physical disabilities or cerebral palsy. When I went there, a resident in a wheelchair—Ramane, 40—asked if I could take some photos of her.
Take some pictures? You bet, ma’am. I’m a professional photographer, and taking pictures is what I came here to do. I’m here to record a monthly visit of local Tzu Chi volunteers to this home.
I held up my camera, trained it on her, and got ready to hit the shutter.
Wait, she said. She didn’t want to be photographed sitting down—she wanted to stand up. Home workers got her out of her wheelchair and helped her stand at the end of a bed. Grabbing hold of the top rail of the bed, she stood tall and turned to face the camera with a brilliant smile.
As I clicked away, it occurred to me that many things in life didn’t come naturally. Even the most mundane of everyday acts like eating, walking, or standing could be very difficult for some people to attempt or achieve. Even the simple act of taking a picture or having a picture taken was a luxury for some people. In this age of photo overabundance, most people could on a whim take out a device from their pockets and snap photos of anything they desired, even of themselves. But in some corners of the world there were people, like this lady in front of me, who had never or only rarely been photographed. Having their pictures taken was a big deal that had to be handled with care and aplomb. Only the best possible poses should ever be captured.
After I had taken some pictures of her, I played them back for her to look at, and I promised that I would print out some images and give them to her if I were to return in the future. She said nothing, but her face took on an expression that tugged at my heartstrings.
Snapping a few frames to capture a moment or printing them out are nothing to me, but such photos might mean a lot to some people. I was glad to help this lady retain a few good memories.
Colombo, Sri Lanka, August 17, 2014
|