Between the Image and the Self

I’ve come to accept that I’m not photogenic. Not in the dramatic, self-pitying way people joke about, but in the very real sense of standing in front of a camera and feeling misunderstood by it. Recently, that truth hit me hard when I needed a picture for a campaign flyer. I scrolled through my phone—over 500 images—and still couldn’t find a single one that felt usable. Not one that quietly said, this is me. In that moment, I wished I had taken pictures more often, whether I liked how I looked or not. If I had, the situation would have been different. But I avoided the camera for years, and now it felt like the camera was returning the favor. There are days I dress smart instead of casual—days I know I look put together—but even then, I hesitate. It feels bothersome. I convince myself my face doesn’t match the outfit, like my appearance refuses to cooperate with my effort. That discomfort forced me to confront something deeper: my face wasn’t how I imagined it to be anymore. For a long time, I built a version of my face in my mind. I practiced expressions in the mirror, memorized angles, and stored that image away so that whenever I stepped out, I felt confident that I knew what others were seeing. But I carried that same mental picture with me even as I grew older. So when it was time to take pictures for the campaign, I made the face I thought I knew—the face I had rehearsed for years. Then I saw the photos. What appeared on the screen didn’t always match what lived in my head. Sometimes it looked uglier. Sometimes it looked finer. The inconsistency unsettled me. It gave me mixed feelings—confusion, disappointment, brief moments of relief, then confusion again. It felt like meeting different versions of myself without warning. Finding a picture became a task. I took some photos the previous day after class, already exhausted, and every single one looked like someone who was tired of life—the kind of tired no filter can hide. I laughed about it later, but in the moment, it hurt. Because this wasn’t just about pictures anymore. It was about being seen. Around the same time, something else began to shift. I’ve always been observant. I notice things. I pay attention to what’s happening around me. But only recently did I begin to truly see the beauty in my environment—not just observe it, but feel it. The way light rests on buildings. The quiet drama in everyday movement. The poetry hidden in ordinary scenes. When I finally decided to take pictures of what I was seeing—to capture it exactly as it appeared to me—it filled me with a deep sense of fulfillment. It encouraged me to keep looking, to keep searching for more breathtaking moments hiding in plain sight. Through that lens, I felt capable. Present. Alive. Still, it isn’t always perfect. Some moments pass too quickly. Sometimes my device can’t capture what my eyes see or what my heart feels. That can be disheartening. Yet, strangely, it’s encouraging too. It reminds me that not everything is meant to be captured. Some things are meant to be witnessed, felt, and remembered quietly. I also recognize that my introverted nature shapes what I see. My environments are often the same—familiar routes, familiar corners, familiar skies. The scenes repeat themselves, not because they lack beauty, but because my world has been small and contained for a long time. Even within that repetition, I’m learning to notice more, to look deeper. Still, I hope for opportunities to move around, to step beyond what I already know. I hope to travel, even if slowly, even if imperfectly, and allow myself to encounter new landscapes, new streets, new forms of quiet beauty. I want to keep seeing more—because every new place carries a chance to feel that same wonder again, and maybe, along the way, to see myself differently too. Maybe that’s the lesson threaded through all of this. Cameras don’t always get us right. Neither do mirrors. Neither do memories. But in the act of trying—of showing up, of looking closer, of daring to be seen—we grow. Slowly. Honestly. Imperfectly. And maybe that’s enough......Here's a peek of one of my images 🤫 <img alt="Sunset at the side" src="/media/inline_insight_image/264300.png"/>

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