A lesson in patience

A lesson in patience

I have been told before that, in photography, if you find a subject with potential, don’t take just two or three shots and walk away. Stay, try different angles, exhaust the possibilities, and that is when you will get a keeper.

This advice never really worked for me in practice. I am not someone with much patience, especially it comes to the repetitive stuff. I believe this is the reason I did badly in Maths in school – I simply did not have the mettle to practice, much less check my work after I am done.

So when @hanshoots picked up a random nut during our Walkabout today and gave me a mini “assignment” to shoot it, I got bored really quickly.

The humble nut was not a particularly interesting subject, and I barely got three mundane shots in when I decided to call it a day.

@hanshoots on the other hand kept going. And then I saw for myself what a difference perseverance makes.

Granted, this is not the most fabulous shot, but it is a reminder to me of this lesson in patience I have experienced first-hand today.

There are no bad subjects, only poor photographers.

Why didn’t you call me?

 

I only just heard. It is really a coincidence that this is one of the first news I stumbled upon the moment I got connected after so many days without the Internet. WX had dropped me a comment entirely unrelated to this. I didn’t know she had set up a new blog either. Then I read her latest post, and was gripped by a sudden fear. Somehow I knew, and Googled his name.  

And I know this is the most cliche thing to say, that there were always the signs, that I have been meaning to catch up, that if only… Hindsight is always 50/50, I know, but regret is real. A month ago, I wrote a list of people to call and meet up with for no reason other than that everyone is caught up in their own lives. I had even thought out of the words to the SMS, the place to go (Siglap Gelare for half-priced waffles was always our excuse), but just could never find the right time and date (i.e. when I wasn’t too tired out from work, or when wasn’t feeling too lazy and that all I wanted to do was to lounge around with a DVD).

You may not believe me now, I swear it was the thought of him suddenly one evening on the way home from work that inspired me to write that list. I knew he always needed to know people cared, and I worried a little that six-months was a bit too long to be out of touch. I swear this is true, that I had wanted to check on him see if he was fine. I swear I even had the morbid premonition that it may already be too late.

But it wasn’t apparently.

Then.

That page in my journal with his name etched on it is proof of how inept a friend I have been. I know I probably shouldn’t give myself too much credit. Could I have even made a difference? Maybe… probably not. Maybe it wouldn’t have meant anything.

But I cannot absolve myself of this horrible gut-wreching guilt.

Everyone keeps saying how unbelievable this is, that no one could have seen it coming. But is it unbelievable? Not really. And that’s what makes it so terrible.

I wish you had called me. I am sorry.

And though it breaks my heart to say this, I hope that you have finally found your peace, my dear friend.