In deep anguish, I asked Ja why do people who are so uncaring, so loose, so irresponsible, who never gave their cameras a shit because they were always out there having a drink or chasing their reluctant lovers, these kind of people, why were they spared? Why did it have to be my camera that the little devil had
to pick up and hurl over his sister? I
have taken cared of it since I had it in my hands. I have always protected it, though, in this room, there was hardly any space for me; no space at all for anything so precious. For it was the not just a camera
to me, it was a window to the world. I used it to capture Life, which was
often drab and dull and full of insurmountable odds. Life became more bearable because of it.
But why did it have to be destroyed? And in such an absurd way? By a stupid kid who just barged into our room, thinking our room was a playground, and in the usual spat with his sister, suddenly climbed up to my deck and hurled my equipment to her?
"It’s one of life’s greatest ironies," Ja replied. "It makes me seethe with fury," he added, to comfort me.
But why did it have to be destroyed? And in such an absurd way? By a stupid kid who just barged into our room, thinking our room was a playground, and in the usual spat with his sister, suddenly climbed up to my deck and hurled my equipment to her?
"It’s one of life’s greatest ironies," Ja replied. "It makes me seethe with fury," he added, to comfort me.
Still, I’m bringing this question to God. Why does it have to be me? Why?!
