She sat on her bed staring at the photographs stuck up haphazardly on her closet walls. And she didn't even like photographs. She would tell people gravely that it was because she believed like the Africans that each time the camera clicked at you it took a piece of your soul away. Because it was easier to laugh at their expressions when she said that than to confess that she hated the hypocrisy of it. The fake arms around you, the insistence of the camera that you be happy. Now. But then here she was staring at photographs. All those smiling faces. Her people.
She sighed and picked up the duster from the floor. She always missed home on spring-cleaning days.
No points for guessing the song :)
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7 comments:
I can sympathise with Ms Nameless Protagonist. I am a photo-scowler.
What I mean by that is that I am the photo-scowler. I scowl in photographs. Sometimes I scowl at photographs. No Pan Am smile for me, thanks.
I like spontaneous photos that capture the moment more truly.
I'd say more, but then I'd end up sliding into something that would give the oldies fodder.
oh. so now there's a movement to starve us. fine, fine, we're already eating in the kitchen anyway.
That's a lovely post. I never thought of it this way, though I must agree. And yet, I love photographs...call it a love of illusions I suppose.
No soup for you!
@nath: Hahaha. I'm a photo-glazed-expression-er.
@r: Urban legend.
@tr: Yes. Show's over. Nothing to see here. Move along now, move along.
@smithy: Thank you. And yes. Love of illusion makes the world go round, no?
@r: Here, here.
he he... I'm almost always the one looking like they don't know what the hell is happening..
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