I was so bored just now that I virtually scanned through my iphoto library. Everytime I snorted, giggled or grinned, i realised that my temporary reactions from looking at those immortalised captures were in fact fabricated by my pyscho-infatuation with nostalgia. Whatever does that mean doesn't really matter, I am just astounded and angry with myself for allowing the re-imagination of what had actually happened. I smiled in many of the photos, but none of those smiles narrate the often complicated and unnecessary drama at the crime scene.
No wonder I am always obligated to smile when taking a picture. It is perhaps to create 'the moment' of happiness and to gain power of how I want to shape my history. Not good yubin, not good. These imaginary photos unfortunately makes living (in the present) more unbearable. If these pictures are, for example, unhappy photos, I will not be sitting down right now day dreaming of a life out there.
I should always remember (and remind myself) the drama I am very capable of.
Like this post. So drama. Can't help it.