#82 Home
I decided to rearrange my cabinet a few days ago. My vinyls don’t fit anymore. I need to move a few boxes and books around. In one box I have a bunch of physical photos I have printed myself across the years.
At the top of the pile, I noticed a black and white photo which is not in my digital archive. This shot was taken almost 19 years ago. I had to look among all my film negatives to confirm what I remember.
I made only three shots with this particular camera in this whole trip. The previous shot seems to be taken a few weeks before. The next photo was taken a few months after during a trip to Italy. This is physical film so there is little room for confusion.
There was only one chance to make this photo. Once you expose film, there is no way to fix it. The shot came out good. The framing of wine glasses, ashtray and reflection seems done on purpose. As anything with Janne, luck was almost always on our side (except that one last time).
This photo was taken during my first visit to Estonia. I know the place where it was taken, somewhere around the Old Town. I felt in such a foreign land and a very different place. I still do.
I have realized that Janne was my real home. I could be wherever with her and feel at peace. Right now, I need to learn again how to live in this place. Estonia feels oddly familiar, like if I had seen it in a movie. Yet it feels as if I don’t know it at all.
These are our beginnings. Janne seems relaxed. I’m talking with her, probably explaining something about this old camera. I remember her “Sold Out!” blouse. We seem happy.
A friend of mine gifted me a physical copy of the book “Bearing the Unbearable”. This author knows me and everyone who has lost someone. I can take only one or two chapters before I break down again. It’s too real, but a good guiding light through this darkness.
I placed this photo inside that book to carry it with me. It’s a treasure. It’s a reminder of how unbelievably lucky I was to run into Janne. It’s also a reminder of how I didn’t lose time with her.
I miss my home.
