Part of what makes me anti-social is that I don’t like pictures taken of me – there’s nothing philosophical about it – I just don’t.
I’m not ugly – but I’m not exactly what you call prince charming either. But looks are not the reason. I have hated it since I was six years old. I was never eager to get into family shots and if I did, I made sure I was at the very back, in the shade. I think it’s safe to say I was not exceptionally self-conscious at that age. Kids seldom are. It’s not that I’m not a camera person – though I can’t say for sure considering I never even gave it a try.
I don’t like seeing myself from the camera’s point of view. It offends me. The idea, somehow reminds me of ‘face off’ – if anybody has seen that. I see pictures taken of me when I was young, really young. Before six. And the sight is not pretty. Ever.
The last thing I want to do is share my pictures – the few I’ve been unable to get rid of – on the internet. My cyber friends totally get that, though in their minds it’s about anonymity; to the contrary, it’s much more elemental. But I suppose being anonymous is an added bonus, the satisfaction I get of knowing that in people’s minds I am the kid from the blog header is priceless. I am what I chose to be.
One of the reasons why I like eating out is because of the whole “no camera” thing the hotels have got going. I know photographers wouldn’t exactly jump up and start flashing cameras the first moment they saw me, but with that notion out of the equation, the food tastes better.
A little while back, I was going on a college trip and the buses that were to take us, were running late. Out of sheer boredom people pulled out their cameras. One thing led to another and there was something like a photo shoot going on in less than three minutes. For memories sake, students paired up with professors. When everybody was done and finished, one professor, who did not know me very well looked at me expectantly.
I was lurking in the shadows the entire time and that professor found it odd that the sarcastic one was the one hiding out.
He called out and I approached. He inquired. I tried to explain, and I think I did a pretty good job of it, I might have done better without the stifled laughter around me, but in the end, the message didn’t quite get through. I think I distinctly heard him muttering,”Don’t – like – photos – honestly?!”. But I suppose the others teachers explained it to him afterwards. Me being vain and me hating pictures, it all adds up.