I didn’t know I’d cross the border and go shopping into Nepal until we did. It was one of those “pleasant surprise” moments. When my co-traveller told me we’d be visiting the Nepal border, I assumed we’d get just a glimpse of the border gate. I imagined soldiers with rifles as long as my arm, guarding the gate. I even imagined their predicament: Tourists begging for permission to click away, some sneaking their cameras trying to be clever, and some staring at them, unabashed. And yet, like so many times in this trip, surprises awaited me. There was a gate, sure. And there were a few soldiers. But they weren’t standing tall and handsome, they sat in a small shack, overseeing tourists who enter. We had to undergo procedures, yes. Like submitting …show more content…
I could never resist antiques. But the owner wasn’t there. I was looking for good photographs, but wasn’t sure if the owner would approve. Nevertheless, I went in and tried to capture all I could — from varying angles. I moved around to experiment with the lighting, took a few steps back to capture whole idols, and even went close to peer into a Buddha’s eyes. And then, all of a sudden, a man entered. Unlike me, he strode into the shop with the authority only an owner could expel. I stumbled within me for a moment, and “Just photographs,” I said, raising my phone. In an instant, he smiled wide, surprising me. With a single nod of the head, he gave me the go signal, and I know I beamed. I’m still a novice photographer, and so I continued looking for the perfect angle, not sure what I hoped to capture. As for the owner, he grabbed the guitar by the cash counter, took a seat, and began adjusting his tune. The next moment, he broke into a song, so smooth, so soft, and oh so beautiful. He wasn’t loud, he wasn’t looking for attention. He became an artist playing just for himself. I told him he was good, and he nodded with a smile. I’ll never know if he understood what I said, but I understood: character depends on an individual, not their
John is a tourist in Italy. He asks an Italian local to take a picture of him by the Colosseum. John assumes that he, not the local, owns the photo, because he owns the camera. He soon begins to question himself. The article, “Hey, That’s My Picture!” is about how one animal photographer found himself in a similar situation.
There is one specific picture in my room that represents me in every way, shape, and form. This picture is of the historic Rock of Cashel located deep in Ireland’s beautifully green countryside. The photo was of a large chunk of stone and brick that had fallen from one of the steeples after a severe storm. The chunk was the back wall of the king’s suite and the ceiling of the once immaculate chapel below.
Hello again, I am so sorry I’ve emailed you so many times but I would really really like to meet one on one with Gerardo. My initial meeting that was scheduled for February 14th, I had to cancel due to being very sick and not wanting to spread it to him or his family. Are there any open slots? God bless, Rachal Adent
Back to Claremont He turned to me, questioning whether I want to raise it or not. The only reply he received-frankly the only reply he would ever need-was my bid number slightly raised in the air and my head slightly nodding in approval. “Two now two now two now two,” an unruly cry tore through his lips, shaking the entire crowd. My actions were kept repetitive and my eye never left the opposing bidder, a collector from out of town.
I was going through boxes looking for something, anything that would help me finish this project. My teacher just handed out an essay that we have to do on the history of a family member . My Dad told me if we have anything it would be in the trunk upstairs, but there were only trinkets in the trunk. I resorted to scavenging through the boxes in the attic. I gave up after finding nothing except a picture of some man sitting on a pony.
It all grew so much easier over the time spent here in this one, humble room which will hold so many memories and events throughout our days living here. The subedars are so good to us, and though it will take us time, we will give back in order for us to keep this refuge for as long as we may need, like they promised. On some days, the shyness within us wrecked us like a tornado, varying from a few days to months, other days, not feeling as dissimilar and worthless to the subedars. After all, I did have my own volition to gift the subedars my baskets woven out of date palm for them to carry their essentials to survive in the desert, he as well, through his own volition, would travel twice a day on his camel to the springs to provide the troops with water under these scorching
Back in the grains of Afghanistan When my father returned from war, I had assumed that we would all fall back into our routines. I had assumed that father, and I would bike down to the beach every Sunday and swim until it was dark. I had assumed that father would read me a bedtime story each night, his eyes brightening and voice exciting whenever a princess story was near. However, this was not true. When father came back from war, his face was of no recognition.
Similarly, Susan Sontag’s On Photography provides a modern version of Plato’s teachings, prompting the audience the question the candidness of photographs. Her essay discusses how photography limits one’s understanding of the world, and she strengthens her argument through the use of rhetorical devices. Sontag demonstrates a thoughtful tone, which enhances her credibility. At the beginning of the passage, she acknowledges the importance of photos in preserving culture and their irreplaceable role in society.
A photograph can mean so much to different people, but it’s ultimate purpose is to capture an important moment in someone’s life and be able to hold onto a physical copy of a memory. Photographs enact a certain nostalgia for the past, the good times or perhaps an important person or location; it’s a memory you want to last indefinitely. It’s a subject many people don’t touch on when they examine a film like Blade Runner (1982), but director Ridley Scott’s film does place an emphasis on the importance of photographs and what they can mean to people. The film depicts photos as a gateway to nostalgia, the immortalization of important figures and how photographs can deceive their owners. When you hold onto a photography they are generally a preserved version of a past memory that is important or a time of happiness.
I have had tough hope once, I had to move to a different state and start to get used to the new place. Moving was hard and took a long time to move everything to our new house. My new house was hard to get used to because it was different and I wasn 't used to it which made it hard to sleep and I had to leave my friends behind and I would have to find new friends. Making new friends was hard because I would be alone until I found new friends and I would have no one to talk to so I would be very quiet. Usually I would always be talking to a friend and I am only social with friends.
“A hard worker and never lazy, and so big and fine‐looking He didn’t take things hard, he didn’t grouch and whine when things didn’t go his way” She describes the time that they spent together as a wonderful time a time filled with joy that she will never now again. His character was too good almost perfect not only did
Returning from Haiti came with mixed emotions. I was thankful that I was able to go and experience God, but I felt empty on the inside. People had told me for years that serving others changes your life, but I did not feel that way. How could I live so extravagantly while there were people living without basic needs right across the ocean? How could I live in an enormous house while people lived in rusted shacks almost about to collapse?
When I first arrived at El Toro, i looked around and saw people staring at me as though I didn 't belong there . I felt like I was under pressure to do more than I was expedited to do. As I walked to my first class at this school, I noticed that no one had paid attention to me as though the world was spinning around me and I was frozen in the middle. As I went through the day I realized that every person at this school has a lot of potential to become a greater person. Most school wouldnt even care about the students education, they would just try to get them out of there hair.
Good Bye? “There we laid her to rest in a dark oak coffin in her final spot.” My Dad told me as I snuggled up in my fluffy pillows, trying to sleep, until I remembered… The dark oak coffin just like the wood of my bed frame. Being 13 years old never helped either, watching the coffin being lowered down into the grave and being covered with dirt was like being shot in the stomach. I will never forget that.
I turned and posed, flashing my smile full of baby teeth. A nice couple saw my mom capturing pictures of me and offered to take a few of my mom and me. After the photo-op was over, we entered the castle and my mom checked us in. Frozen there, I tried to take in all of the sights.