Cam whoring.

This is the IT word at the moment. Everyone is camera whoring these days. It is no longer the preoccupation of tourists but the major occupation for many souls.

Let me ponder for a moment. Dare I say my father created camera whoring? Probably I dare say so. Being the first child, I have the privilege of being the “first” for my parents’ parenting skills - the first step, the first birthday cake, the first words, the first song (which is recorded and I have a copy of myself singing as a child of no more than three years), the first everything.

My father loved photography as much as he loved fishing. He took many photos of my mother fishing (combination of both loves) and by the time I was born, he took many photos documenting my development from baby to toddler to pre-teen to teen to young woman. The last time my father took a photo of me was approximately three weeks ago.

I am very thankful that both my parents doted on me so much because they gave me a pass that I cannot purchase with money. Photos of my parents and I in late 70s baby clothing (including one with a bikini that was sewn by my mother), photos of my childhood toys (including a blonde doll that could speak), photos of my preschool and my childhood friends etc.

So yeah – I can officially say my father created camera whoring.

It is one thing being a cam whore and you taking photos to immortalize yourself in time. It is another thing when others immortalize you.

Have you ever wondered what others see in you? I know I have.


***
“You are as drunk as a skunk!!” I said.

I propped him up against my car door. He could hardly stand up. It was the first night of our meeting and yet, he uttered: “I have been waiting to see you.”

He had thick glasses and shoulder length hair. Under the pale moonlight, he wore what appeared to be a white linen shirt and dark pair of jeans on the first evening we shook hands.

I’ve turned gate climbing into an art form, having climbed over my house gate every so often in my tumbling high heels. That night, I climbed over the gate, after him. He emptied both his pockets and handed me his set of keys. I slid the glass door open, revealing a neat living space, filled with colorful art work leaned against every available wall surface. I held him tightly under the arm, the way only a trained nurse knew how, placed him in bed, where he fell into a heap of sheer slurring drunkenness.

I was looking through his art work when he got up and placed his finger on my lips. It must have been close to 0400 hours and by then, all he could say was repeated, “Shhhh… Shhhh….”

He took a few pieces of paper, some crayons and a sip of water out of a very old mug. He crossed his legs, in an effort to stabilize himself and keep still long enough to turn lines and circles into something symbolic.

“That’s you.”


***
Dear readers, this might sound weird but alcohol (and specifically the consumption of alcohol in sinful amounts) was the platform that launched a few of my friendships. My friendship with Aidan was layered thick with drinking huge amount of vodka, reading and painting. At least 50% of our conversations were had when he either drank vodka or smoked weed so much that the whole world became an object of beauty. Vodka not only calmed his soul, it flowed in strokes of colors of crimson red and hazy purple.

He was stuck in a rut. He yearned to spend his waking hours drawing and painting. Aidan was beautiful when the moon shone and he painted. His later ego, a serious bespectacled accountant will rise from his soul at sunrise each day. This was his daily metamorphosis.


***

That first night, he drew three portraits. In the first, my eyes were disproportionately larger than the rest of my facial features that were circled with dark kohl. The second was playing on shadows and light, using only a deep green crayon stick. The last was my favorite, which featured me with my eyes closed and my right hand raised.

His initial paintings and subsequent paintings immortalized both of us eternally in time.


***
Dear readers, my take at this cam whoring thing is this: Do it as much as you wish. You have only one life and you are young only but for once. So cam whore all you want, so when you are old and gray, when your grandson says "Ah Mah, you so lauyah, so old already, no cool like me." you can proudly tell him, "Your Ah Mah has seen colorful days and even brighter nights."

Probably you'll be just like me, stashing up all the photos in a small folder somewhere on your laptop, under the name "Personal Photos" or something.


***
I showed Seven the photo above. He said it was illegal to take such suggestive photos. Oh I love giving him the scare and watching him sweat..... hehehehe...





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