This is the photo, taken by Dungha, a photographer in Romania who specializes in street photography. His pictues are really extraordinarily beautiful - I highly suggest visiting the page. (just be warned, music will play. If your rommate is asleep, as mine was, they will not appreciate your volume on max). But now onto writing about this picture:
It’s funny how as a child, forever feels like a tangible goal. When you told your friend in first grade that you’d be friends forever, you meant it – pinky promise. Yet as time wore on, you changed, moved on, and forever ended. Then one day you became an adult, and now you don’t even try to promise forever. You barely even promise next week, penciling in your former friend for coffee, knowing that you’d drop the date if something more important came along. But remember the days when there wasn’t anything more important? The days when your biggest concern was making it home before the streetlights came on and your parents would begin to worry? When being line-leader for the day was the best thing that could ever happen to you? When you skinned your knee and just got up and kept on running? Those days were simpler, better. It’s sad that every child must grow up - must lose the innocence of forever.
That’s one reason I like old pictures – pictures of me as a child, pictures of my parents as children, pictures of strangers. It’s a moment captured in time, a child who will never lose the innocence and youth associated with believing in things. I have this old picture of myself from the third grade. My hair is flipped out and frizzing; I’m wearing maroon, red, and yellow simultaneously; and I smiling foolishly up at my dad as he snaps a photo of me trying to lure a pigeon to my arm. For some reason I really love this picture. It captures a moment in my life where I was completely happy. I couldn’t imagine doing anything better with my life, and my main goal was to touch a pigeon. Who am I to keep such a gem from you:
I decorated that jacket myself with fabric paint. My mom didn't really think there was a point in hampering my "creativity" so she let me not only clothe myself, but actually personalize my clothes too. I suppose I had help with that design though, most likely aided heavily by stencils.
I grew out of my habit of mismatching clothes around fifth grade, when I retired the oversized orange tie-dye shirt I made at camp 3 years back. Someone had made fun of it, and I succumbed to pressure to fit in, so I threw it in my "Good Will" bag. I think that was the moment I started caring what others thought. Once you start that process, it doesn't stop, and soon, you're no longer a child.
I bet you're wondering what this has to do with the black-and-white photo above... I actually am too. I think it's because those kids reminded me of my childhood...