Start Again

These past couple of nights I was unable to sleep. Maybe it's due to the semester coming to an end. Anxiety. Restlessness. Call it what you will. In my many attempts to try and go to sleep, I found that tiring myself was one of the best ways to put me under.

One way I did that was by looking at all my photos. On my hard drive, this blog and Facebook. Hell, I totally forgot I had a Flickr account! It's really bittersweet whenever I look at my photos these days because I used to shoot a lot. I take a look at the past couple of months and I can only come up with a handful of photos. It's sad and I hate that I've allowed myself to reduce my photography to practically nothing. There is the video thing that I'm into now as I'm getting better at it every day but I need to find that right balance with what I'm growing to love, and what I loved before.

When the semester ends I'll pick up my camera again. Maybe disappear for awhile and start where I left off doing something that gave me solace...made me happy. Then probably I can add more visual content here than early morning ramblings.

Of Obituaries

It's not often that one gets to write an obituary. I had to write one recently. Not a real obituary in the sense that someone died mind you. I had to write an obituary for my Journalism 101 class on a classmate. I have a playful side and that side of me couldn't help but throw in a couple of good zingers and as much as I would've liked to go full on satire with this obituary a la those roasts we've come to know, I had to be somewhat serious with this. My grade depended on it.

As I was writing out this obit for a person I had just met, I started to think about my very own obituary. Not the one that the person is writing on me for this assignment. For the record, I told her to use her imagination and take me out in the weirdest and funniest way. She laughed at the thought but then pressed me for a serious answer as to how I'd like to die so I told her take me out as I was covering a news story (I hope she picked an active shooter on campus because that's one way to go out as a photojournalist covering a breaking news story). The real obituary, for when I do actually go out, was on my mind.

I entertained the thought of who would actually write it out? I'm not famous so it's not like some reporter has a pre-made obituary waiting for me when I die. Oh yeah, pre-made obituaries for famous people are a reality. You know, because breaking news. So someone would have to actually pay whatever newspaper "x" amount of money like an advertisement for the obituary to go to print, and then actually write it. What would that person say about me and how I lived my life? Also, which kind person in my circle of friends and family would go out and do this?

Normally I don't think about this stuff. It has occurred to me a couple of times but this assignment in particular brought upon these thoughts. I find it fascinating on many different levels.

As for what type of death I chose for my fellow Journalism 101 classmate? I killed her off in a caffeine overdose trying to write out my obituary.

***Updated in italics to convey context to a fictional scenario. Not to condone, glorify or convey a sense of disrespect with regards to such a situation. It's a tough subject to talk about considering such situations have happened but at the same time, being a photojournalist working with a school's publication, it is a scenario in which someone could die in a fictional scenario with some regard to reality***

Light A Fire

This past weekend, I, along with my fellow Roundup News colleagues, attended the JACC Spring 2014 State Conference in Burbank, California. The JACC holds a conference three times I year I believe. In the fall, there is the regional conference, where the news media of various community colleges meet somewhere within their respective regions, gather to compete, network, and attend workshops in order to gain a better knowledge of the field of journalism. During the spring, there is the state conference where all of the community colleges meet. The locations switch every year and this time around, it happened locally.

We always come into these conferences with high confidence. During the regional conference in the fall of last year, the Roundup News, the Bull Magazine, and its respective photographers and reporters, won many awards. During the awards ceremony, our name was called out in almost every category with either a top placing, or an honorable mention. It wasn't much different coming into the state conference as we felt our publications were good enough for a repeat performance. Sadly, it wasn't the case this time around.

Before I go on, congratulations to all the schools and student journalists that won an award at the state conference. It was well deserved. Having said that, I was really annoyed during the awards ceremony. Hearing every other school being called for an award bothered me. I like winning and I'm a very competitive person with great pride in my school's publications and in my colleagues. Every time our name wasn't called during the "mail-in" portion of the ceremony, one reoccurring thought went through my head. "Were we that bad?"

I received 3rd place for News Photo and I feel great that my photo won out against who knows how many hundred photos were entered in that category but initially I was disappointed. 3rd?! Really? I remember taking that photo, which was a photograph of a standoff between Pierce College and West Los Angeles College football players occurred at the football stadium when the away team had all their stuff stolen from the locker room and were angry. Sheriff deputies from Pierce College and Valley College (I believe) as well as LAPD arrived on scene and had to break it up before it escalated into a full blown riot which at the time, was nearing that point. When I took that photo I "knew" it was going to win at least second. It was a great photo and I was proud of it. Still am. How many times does an event like that happen at other colleges?

As the awards went on during the News Photo category, they showed the winning photo, which was taken by a Long Beach City College photographer, of a similar altercation during a football game and a punch was thrown. So actually a fight documented. I saw it and I thought "Wow. That's an awesome photo." Then I wondered what the 2nd place photo was and what made it better than mine? They never showed it.

After the conference was over, I, still bitter and disappointed, spoke with a colleague who was just as bitter and disappointed as I was, about the conference and our outing and we concluded that as good as we were back in the fall of last year, we rested on our laurels which affected our work. Don't get me wrong, we worked and still continue to work hard to make our newspaper the great publication that it is. Just not hard enough. At least, that's what I thought when we both talked about it.

When I woke up yesterday, I was still bothered as to why we didn't win that many awards during the state conference and continued to ponder the results. As I type this entry out, I just feel like we've lost our sight. Winning isn't everything. It's not the end all be all of journalism. What journalism is, is getting the news right and reporting as such. Speaking personally, these days I'm not as happy as I was before when I entered the newsroom because I was so focused on winning awards (as well as other factors but I won't talk about that but it does play a part in me wanting to win) that it stressed me out so much that I don't "smile like I used to," as another colleague of mine told me during the conference. And it's true. I don't. I'm not happy much these days and it sucks. It sucks that I know it, and it sucks that others recognize it and I hate that because I'm normally quite happy.

It dawned on me, as I recall the other school's being called out for awards, resulting in loud, boisterous cheers, that it was an amateur show. It's all been an amateur show. I don't think the professional publications out there cheered as hard for their award wins. It's great to win an award for your hard work but those that didn't win worked just as hard. Going about business in order to win is the wrong way to go about approaching journalism.

I don't care much about winning anymore. I want to get back to my old happy self again. Which is why I'm going to perform like I did when I first started this venture into journalism. Reporting the news right, and on time. My best work came about doing it this way AND it was fun. Should my work result in awards, great. It's a rather humbling experience to acknowledge where and how I went wrong. I'm glad that I was able to recognize it at all now rather than risk fully burning and falling out of what I loved about journalism. Here's to the new, old me. The future is looking a little more bright now.

A Study In Movement

I spent the day in Venice Beach today with a couple of friends, one of which was trying to learn to photograph. Every time I go to Venice Beach, I always end up at the drum circle and I spend a great deal of time enjoying the great drumming. As always, I had my camera with me and this woman caught my eye. It was as if she was in another world, in some sort of ecstasy. I watched her dance for a good 5 minutes before I began documenting her trance like state. For all she cared, no one and nothing else mattered. It was just her, and the rhythm.

The Highest

It was a surreal experience. Everyone was dressed to the nines but no one was here to celebrate. I could count on the fingers of my hands as to who I actually knew. A lot of people came to see you.

From my position, I could see the line form as long to the double door entrance of the place. A great deal of time would pass before those in the back had their chance. My fingers grace the lacquered finish of your final resting place. I thought it interesting. Had it been me, there would be any kind of finish. Just a simple wooden box befitting a pauper, and my body wrapped in a white cloth of some type, naked underneath. That would've been the Muslim way. We're all just empty shells when we die. There's no need for all of this when we go for there's something awaiting us in the after. That's the belief anyway. There would've been no open casket for me.

You look rather peaceful, or whatever the mortician thought was what peaceful looked like. I felt like using my fingers and nudging just a bit of a smile. Give you some sort of emotion; what I thought of you to be. Peaceful you were certainly not but happy, you were always happy. My heart was breaking inside yet I showed little emotion. I kept my eyes watery and did my best not to let tears flow. Not that you were undeserving of my tears. You were. What good would it have done here? Now? You were the one that instilled the idea of celebration in and of life. I did my best.

As I walk through your home during your wake, I catch bits of conversations about you. Everyone loved you. Some people asked who I was and they would know me even though I have never seen them before until this day. We were inseparable. I walk into the living room and see your mother. My first instinct was to turn around and get the hell out of there. She always had this look when she saw me. You probably blamed me whenever you got in trouble but that's ok. I did the same to you.

She called out to me and asked me to come over and for a fleeting moment, I thought about running the other way but that really would've been awkward. I walked over and she embraced me like never before because, well, she never embraced me at all. She said nothing but I could feel her pain and it was heavy. I wanted to do something to ease her pain and the best I could so was tell her that I loved you as a brother and that you still live on within me as you taught me things that I will continue to carry with me until it's my time to go. She released her bear hug of an embrace, wiped her tears and kissed my cheek before giving me yet another choking hug.

That was over 20 years ago and to this day I miss you. It'd would've been grand to be able to grow with you, and see how you would've turned out. Your life was cut short but you lived a happy one. Tell your mother that probably a quarter of the times you got into trouble was because of me but she probably already knows that.

The Kindness of Strangers

I saw him getting off the bus this morning. An elderly man who was probably in his late 60s or early 70s. Walking gingerly as he pushed around his walker. He had a worried look on his face as if he was helpless and lost.

He walked up to a young woman asking for directions. His heavy accent sounded Eastern European in origin. His English was rudimentary and broken. The woman tried the best she could to understand the elderly man but was unsuccessful and the look on his face changed from worried and lost to annoyed.

Slowly walking towards my direction, he then asked me for help. "How to get to universally," he asked. I kind of knew what he was trying to say which is what others had a problem with. The bus stop where we were at, had two different bus lines going in the same direction and there were two destinations to which he may have been trying to say. In my slowest voice, I asked him "Are you trying to go to Universal City? Or University?" To which he replied "Yes," with such excitement that there was someone who finally understood him. That there was hope. Little did he know that his answer did little help to me in trying to help him find his way. I went with another approach asking him, "Are you going to Universal City? Or CSUN," thinking if he wanted to go to Universal City, he'd say "universally" again. His expression was one of perplexion. No verbal answer was given. In this moment, I thought I did the best I could and told the man to ask the bus driver but I told him to get on one particular bus because it went to both locations. If he was going to CSUN, I hoped he would recognize the streets and get off there and if he didn't, he was going to Unuversal City.

One of the buses was ready to depart and I got on with the other people waiting. I noticed the elderly man was the last one but he didn't board the bus. Rather, he asked the bus driver the same questions he asked everyone else and much like everyone else, the bus driver couldn't understand him and gave similar answers we all did. Defeated, he walked away towards another bus and just as the bus driver was ready to close the doors, I told the bus driver "I think he means university." The bus driver wasn't sure so I asked him if he could wait a minute so I can confirm for sure what he means and the driver kindly obliges so I run out of the bus and asked the elderly man once again, in a slow voice "universal city? Or university." He started to panic, speaking a language that was both wherever he was from and English until he said the words "big library." "Follow me. I know where you're going"

We both hurried back to the bus. I got on first so I can make sure to tell the operator that the elderly man was coming along and that I knew where he was going. As we both found a seat, I remembered that I had Google Translate on my phone so I ask the elderly man what country he was from. "Ukraine," he said. So I opened up the app and put on the English to Ukranian translation option so I can communicate with him better and tell him where to go. The first words I typed was "you go to university?" and the app gave me an answer of backwards letters reminiscent of The Russian alphabet and hoping it works, showed the man my question translated to Ukranian. I saw his face light up with surprise and joy as his reply was something I gathered to be Ukranian for "yes". With positive confirmation, my next translated words were "you get off at next stop." I'm not sure what he said to me but I gathered that he was amazed that my phone was capable of translating text to his native language so quickly, to which I replied that my phone can translate many languages. Of course this was translated all through Google Translate.

We reached the bus stop that conveniently is right in the heart of CSUN and as he stepped off the bus, I felt glad that I, through the use of technology, was able to get him to his destination. I'm not sure if he was able to find the library. I wish I had known myself, where it was as I've never been to that particular part of the campus. I only hoped someone would have the idea of breaking out their smartphone and helping him get to where he exactly needed to be. 

As I went on my way to my destination, I thought about all the times where I was in his shoes and was lost and in need of help and often times I wouldn't get it. There have been a few kind strangers that have helped me out in those situations and I've always been thankful for their kindness as well as the kindness of the people in my life and it is these acts that give me a little more faith in humanity.  I've done kinds things before but it's weird that after this particular event, I never thought myself as being...a conduit? That my good deeds may lead someone to have a little bit more faith in mankind. 

I had a long and exhausting day but this experience was good for me and I hope for the elderly man from Ukraine as well. 

(No longer) Superman

In my younger years, I was always a bundle of energy. Stayed up all night on consecutive nights rather easily. Little could stop me. I felt invincible. These days, I find myself somehow surviving with 5 hours of sleep nightly and needing a quick nap at some point in the day to make it through. Still, I thrive.

I've always been eager to please. Always hungry. Taking each and every opportunity to complete tasks as they come. That's always been one of the things that defined me as a person. That will never change. I'm afraid though that my level of energy can no longer keep up with that hunger and it frightens me.

I should come to accept and realize that I can no longer do the things that I normally do because physically, I can't keep up. Most of my peers are at least 8 years my junior. It's tough to keep up. But I'm stubborn and I refuse to accept that my limitations.

It's not to say that I have no energy. I still have a good amount left. The wheels keep turning but they're running out of steam. However, much like my main camera, I'm a work horse and I'll keep running until I run out of energy.

So, as I'm still running, I say, bring it on.

Hello again New York!

The Spring 2014 semester is coming up in a couple of days and just before the beginning of every semester, I normally take some time and go through my firewire drive in search of photos that I can delete to make room for new photos. As I was going through the drive today, I was pleasantly surprised to come across a set of photos I took while I was in New York June of last year. I thought I had taken care of these photos but apparently I only took care of the wedding photos, which was the reason I went to New York in the first place. These photos were taken during my last full day in NY. After shooting the wedding, I decided to use my last day to go into the city and just...get lost. I remember taking a lot more photos than these but I suppose I switched from my camera to my iPhone which would explain the discrepancy in the number of photos and my memory. I believe the rest of the photos are hidden in a post somewhere in the archives. A lot of these photos are of the HighLine in Manhattan which was a really interesting place and a weird experience for me. Being surrounded by the lush green of a park juxtaposed and contrasted by the urban sight of old brick buildings, some new, was alien. But I'm from LA so it shouldn't be a surprise such a thing would be alien to me. I loved it though. Enough of me rambling, it's been awhile since I posted a photography entry...

People crossing the street

Just down the street from here, you can pick up the best hot sauce ever made from Mamoun's

Street performer inside a station

The Standard hotel I believe, sitting on the High Line

People strolling through the High Line

Relaxing on the High Line

I don't know where this is at

This kid kept hounding me for some strange reason

Walking through the High Line, she appears distraught

Another section of the High Line

I don't watch Louis C.K. much but I've seen the intro and I just happened to find this whilest getting lost

City life

My gateway into Manhattan

More photos to be uploaded to my instagram account @film_stagram.

So Long. You Did Me Wrong.

I've always been a person to root for love. Any time someone comes to me for relationship advice, I'll be the one to say "stay at it for as long as you can," or something along the lines to persuade that person to continue working on the relationship. With that said, sometimes things don't work out and two people weren't meant to be together and inevitably someone (or someones) get their heart broken. Then comes all the feelings of sorrow, anger and what not and to get through that time, you talk to all you friends, get back on that proverbial horse and start dating again, or you'll listen to music. 

Aah the seminal breakup song! I'll be honest, there have been a lot of songs to help me get through such times and usually the songs are ambiguous in that it can work if you're a man or woman but most often, the songs are sung by women that have been done wrong by men. Now, I'm not saying there's little truth to these songs, and I'm one to agree that most men are stubborn (read: dumb) but let's be real here, sometimes it's women that are the "heartbreakers" for lack of a better word. So what's a broken hearted man supposed to listen to when he's been wronged?

I present to you Mayer Hawthorne's "The Walk" (don't YouTube it just yet, I've embedded the song at the end of this post). This is by far the best breakup song for guys I've ever heard. Quite simply, the lyrics are, well, a straight forward fuck you to whoever this woman is that compelled him to write this song (for the record, I'd like to meet this person because she did him oh so wrong for him to write SUCH a great song). But it's also a little complex with the send off because there are subtle juxtapositions within the song that when you catch it, makes listening to this song more enjoyable. For instance, I'm a big fan of soul music and much of soul music's song rhythms are for the most part joyful in its rhythmic bounce. You can be singing about love and a soul rhythm would work. You can sing of a terrible breakup with a soul rhythm and it'll work as well because what would be a sad tune, becomes a song of relief and release which is what this song is exactly. Hawthorne also adds more of a sting to this song when he sings about the qualities of her that attracted him and in the next line drops the bomb on her. The emotional tug of war within this song is really fun to hear! It's little wonder why that when I listen to this song, there's a smile on my face and a nice bounce in my legs as I dance along to it. 

I find myself amused that this song wasn't available for the times when I felt like I got the shit end of the stick in a relationship because it really would've helped a lot. Anyway, Mayer Hawthorne is an AMAZING artist and I hope after listening to this song, you'll check out his discography and become a fan. 

Best line: "your shape is like an hourglass but I think the time’s up"