“Me levanto en tu fotografía. Me levanto y siempre estas tu. En el mismo sitio cada día. La misma mirada. El mismo rayo de luz. El color ya no es el mismo de antes, tu sonrisa casi se borro. Y aunque no estés claro yo te invento en mis pensamientos y en mi corazón….

Si desapareces yo te encuentro en la misma esquina de mi

habitación…

…cada cosa en su sitio. El pasado y presente. En el polvo mis dedos se juntan y quiero tenerte cambiando conmigo...

Me levanto en tu fotografía cada día invento una actitud y aunque no se note en blanco y negro no me desespero, uso mi imaginación….”

I found myself a bit sleepless the other night. After a while I began to take out my picture box and albums. I hadn’t gotten through them in a while and they needed some rearranging. And I slowly drifted into memory lane.

I searched through photos of family and friends, embarrassing moments, hideous outfits, hilarious haircuts, interesting poses, and gleaming smiles. The funniest at the bottom of the stack.

Many pictures of me and my friends at age 5-8. With those over the top flowery, poufy armed, built-in-white-bib dresses that moms thought looked amazing. Always with an immense ribbon in our hair, socks with embroidery, and the shiniest leather patent shoes the world had to offer.

Needless to say I went through many pictures that night before sleep came. And I got lost in still images of precious times and what was I thinking moments. But when I reached the last picture taken of me with my grandmother days before she passed a sudden surge of emotions caught me unaware… almost taking my breath away.

My grandmother never smiled in pictures. She pursed her thin lips and tilted her head straight and forward. She came from a time when pictures were an event and only happened in special occasions. When profile pictures were actually of a persons profile and not an overflow of cropped and edited self images displayed at a corner of a screen. She came from a time when you were told to stand completely still and hold your breath, look stern, and stand erect.

I know so because in my head is this picture my grandmother used to have in her dresser hidden under folds of old clothes. I always found this picture amusing because pictures of her were so rare. Always taking it out when I’d remember. It was her at a young age. It’s a group picture of her and her and family who got lassoed around to just stand there and look directly at the photographer.

A black and white still photo where the phrase “cheese” didn’t exist. My grandmother looked so out of place standing in a corner. She wore a white hand-me-down dress that was too short showing the end of her bloomers. And her hair as black as could be was sticking out at the ends like she hadn’t washed it in days. But out of all the people in the picture she was the only one with a slight smile on her face. It was like my grandmother to find a way to shine brightly even in the worst of situations.

To be honest I’m not sure this picture even exists anymore. After she passed, the house my mom bought her in the city was closed off and left intact just the way she left it. No one had the courage to move or do away with her things. But I remember it nonetheless when I get deep in thought remembering her.

The truth is that there’s so much treasure and beauty in old photographs. Most of my favorites are those taken at a young age. Children’s photos hold bright eyes and crooked smiles. Still images of innocence, and purity and light heartedness of times.

Then there’s the pictures of people and the eras. Of laughter and life caught and kept safely in a memory we can physically hold. One picture can hold a story, a remembrance of a certain moment and instance. A sentiment that outlives dust and time, the yellowing and the discoloration.

There are the pictures we hold proudly up and display. The pictures we hide and try to not see. Those we tear because they just unravel us. Those that make the pieces and puzzles of our stories come together.

But I have to say that the most precious ones are those that help bring life to full circle. That make you remember the people who are no longer with you. That make that surge of emotions rush to your heart and pour out through your soul. The photographs that make you hold them tight and close… and bring warmth to the heart…