There was many a time when I wanted the world to stop. You know that moment in Big Fish, when Ewan McGregor’s character and his love interest are the only bits of motion in a time halt? Remember when he described that moment?
They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. What they don’t tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.
Were we ever even given a chance to stop time, or at least see it stop all by itself? We instead shut our eyes and revel in what’s left of that present moment, because we can never really claim or point out to what’s past, present, or future anymore. Our actions instead move at a millisecond pace (or even faster at that), where one future action becomes the past, the present becomes the past, and the action done after the present one is the future. The cycle turns, so how can you ever hold onto a moment when in itself it dies out so soon?
I guess that’s the reason why photographers exist, or at least we try to take photographs. We use Nikon, Canon, Sony, and hell, even Instagram to seize these events before they fade away. We don’t know whether they’ll come around because usually, they only happen once. When a photo is snapped, it happens just as quickly. Of course it has to have that sort of speed, or else what is there to be captured?
The closest thing to a time machine is the photograph. It’s my best bet. You don’t necessarily return back to 1993 physically, but vicariously you do. You go through this vivid experience of remembering everything: the elation, the melancholy, the anger, everything. You can never really choose what to feel when you look through old albums or even those Facebook albums. You photograph because you hold onto moments that loosen at the snap of your fingers.
The angles the photographer captures one thing from are the perceptions. You and another person may look at the same thing, but you see it differently. Look and see aren’t even the same thing sometimes. But that’s it. That’s how you stop time.
And sometimes, unbelievingly, we don’t remember those moments happen. We’re just presented with it, and that in itself is something history has to take note of. We were, after all, a collection of historical pieces waiting to be discovered by the next generation.