Those who are not photogenic will empathise with me. We lack the bullet-proof armor that would shield us from the rounds fired from the NIKON D-SLR at the nightclub or the camera phones of snap-crazy people.
Candid photos? Instant death.
I could never comprehend why there was a such a stark disparity between what is plain on the photographs and perceptions of myself through my own eyes. The same thought arises without fail each time I observe a picture of myself: "I distinctly don't remember being this ugly."
Yet why would the camera lie? It does not conspire to make certain people look like shit. It does not cunningly whisper to itself: "Oh look, here's that wanker guy again. Time to spread some turd on the lens to cover his face." It records what is there. So is that really me?
I hope not.
Note: I know, I know. I'm procrastinating. I'm half done with the play. It is now mid semester break, so I'll have some time to complete it.
