I remember the photograph you guys took together with an instant film camera outside of Gong Cha, just two blocks away from Penn Station—you both took a selfie, making a solar eclipse. It was a once in a lifetime event where both of you existed at the same time and place, but this time, walking on Earth and spending time with your favorite earthling. You both handed me the film before we said our goodbyes to each other. I departed with the star and took the train back to New Jersey, watching you through the window, ruling the night sky.
I visited you, the moon, in Chicago. I still remember how serene it was on that beach we stumbled upon near Edgewater, where the skyscrapers were competing against each other to be in the frame. Our feet were merging with the pastel yellow sand as we gazed into the morning horizon, letting nature speak for half an hour while attentively listening to its whispers in mutual silence. The taste of water is reminiscent of the drinks we ordered at this hip neighborhood cafe that we stopped by from our walk. We looked at each other upon our first sips, perplexed. No words were needed. We giggled to each other and left the crime scene, relishing in our own laughter of how horrible it was. That karaoke night will forever be my favorite—our Whole New World duet was the most fun I’ve ever had singing with someone else. The only memory I wasn’t fond of was when you took my favorite photo of the solar eclipse from my wallet and blacked out the sun with a sharpie.
There’s a common saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. Most of the time, it’s said without any rationale of what a picture actually conveys. It’s a form of media that makes its present eternal, compartmentalizing itself by neglecting context, state, and memory—and selfishly establishes itself as authoritative truth by using visuals as its language and power. When looking at a picture, the only thing it knows and what it can tell you is what exists in its frame—descriptions that rarely reach a thousands words.
A picture cant convey how I felt recently wiping the sharpie off the film. My stomach scrunched as if a black hole materialized within me. I wish I never knew the reason why you blacked out my sun, I wish I never knew of the discord between you, I wish I was never torn apart by your gravity—having to choose between the sun or moon. It’s only in the photo that gravity doesn’t exist between you two. Whenever I hold the photo, I wish I could jump into the frame and live through the truth that it presents once more. You two were touching shoulders, sipping on your drinks, taking a selfie while I simply stood there watching my sun and moon form a solar eclipse from a side view. Sometimes, I wish I could remain as ignorant and blissful as the photograph itself.