Keeping Pictures

For as long as I can remember, I hated the idea of keeping old pictures. I have always found myself deleting them like bad memories.

In a world where marketing and physical appearance reign supreme, I shied away from keeping pictures in my adolescent years. My insecurities often kept me from embracing moments, making me uncomfortable whenever someone wanted to take a picture with me.

I believe this worsened from the profound impact of social media in my life. With great severity, big tech companies were aggressively pushing their apps on our faces during that period. It was truly overwhelming. Falling victim to such a phenomenon feels more or less being enslaved. Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter: these are apps which you do not really need in your day-to-day life. I have come to realize they thrive on your insecurities. Nonetheless, I digress.

I had this unusual philosophy about pictures. I’m not sure where I picked it from — maybe something I read or heard, I don’t know. I can be a bit philosophical sometimes, you know. The idea centered around complete focus on the moment itself, rather than documenting it. Extending to this idea, there was another that suggested great memories are those deeply etched in your mind, something you can look back on and feel, rather than just see in the form of media.

Funny thing as I write this and reflect on the past few years, I’ve noticed a strange habit: I find myself meticulously organizing my pictures in different folders.