When Isaac gave me advice on starting a blog, alongside posting everyday, taking good pictures and making people care was the warning never to go cameraless. Today, I committed the sin.
Only 20 feet from my apartment, I saw the full-grown rice fields and took my first mental picture. In my head, I juxtaposed the long yellow strands with the tiny green shoots cheekily poking out from the murky water only two months prior. Next, I watched as a small yellow butterfly circled around a group of pink carnations and I imagined it keeping still, just long enough for my invisible camera to capture.
And though I’ve never taken an actual panoramic, I spun around slowly, then a little faster downloading the green mountains, the traditional roofed houses and the many black power-lines playing house to the village’s entire bird population. I took it all in and I saved it, for myself, on the desktop of my heart, in a private folder.
A few more steps and surprise, surprise, I was greeted by my friend. He was waiting for me outside of his house. “You late,” he said. I laughed thinking, it’s a Saturday! “Come come.” He took me to his garden. I watched as his 78 year old hands trembled cutting the vine of a perfectly round watermelon. “This this, number one,” he said. “Camera?” he asked. “Nai, not today,” I answered.
After calling his wife to join us in the garden, he washed the watermelon, scrubbing it with a brown sponge between his tanned and wrinkled fingers. I took a quick snap of this. Staring at the frozen moment I wished to hold hands with him. He reminded me of my own grandfather and the countless times we’d sat together where I played with his smooth fingers whilst he kissed my forehead.
Now the three of us stood around an old bench, beautiful amber wood, just screaming to be photographed as a sharp dangerous-looking square blade attached to a tiny wooden handle pierced through the green melon. Ah, don’t cut yourself I thought as I inwardly videoed the “big moment”. Red. It was so red. And fresh! So fresh that the skin cracked open by itself, begging to be eaten.
I was given the first slice. He and his wife watched in anticipation. Delicious? Delicious, I proclaimed. It was. It was the sweetest I’d ever tasted.