This short story is one that I planned to write for my mother on Mother's Day. But because of many obstacles, the writing was unable to be completed in time. Whether it's laziness (?) or whether it's a mental problem that arises during writing and has to take a break for a very long time. Until I was able to come back and write again.

The story may include a little bit of the author's real life. Maybe after I come back and read it again in a few years. I might not be able to bear this.

The story may have emotions that don't go all the way up, not all the way down, or the narration isn't complete. I apologize for that.

My heart can really bear this much.

I like taking pictures

The person who made me feel that way was my mother who liked to take pictures.

My mother always carried a camera with her so that she could always capture memories, no matter how small. Or even during a time when you're showing a pose that you don't want anyone to see, if you try to lose sight of it for just a moment, don't expect it to escape from the tip of your finger pointed at the shutter.

If captured by your camera, there is only one way to survive. Do not leave photos stored in the camera for too long. Definitely 15 minutes. or otherwise The embarrassing photos will be buried with additional photos until they can be found once they're placed in an album.

But even if you like taking pictures this much, I can't guarantee your skills.

For example, a photo that's so blurry you can't tell what it's taking and is asleep in a folder somewhere.

In the stacked albums, there are memories that you deem worthy of keeping as you go. The number of albums increased as if they were dividing themselves. There were so many that my father had to buy a special box to put the photo album in, and it was categorized as to when the album was taken and on what occasion. Or even who took the photo?

But the strangest thing was that no matter how many albums she accumulated, if my mother wanted to find just one photo taken several months ago, she would find it in no time. That's it.

Examples of photographs that you consider worthy of recording include…

“Next will be the tug-of-war competition of the first level. purple meets green and yellow meets blue.”

Today was my school's sports day. I competed as a purple tug-of-war player and was the youngest athlete in the color. I walked up to the line next to the rope that had been prepared along with the people. other

Looking around, everyone lined up in front and behind me was so much taller than me that I didn't know why I was even on the field. But when the color teacher walked up and called me to the front of the stands, I had to follow him down.

"Our son also competed. I guess I had to take some pictures."

“Bring me the gold medal, keep fighting, son.”

The familiar sound of cheering came from the sidelines.

When I turned around, I saw my parents behind them cheering me on. But what I saw before I saw my mother's face was a digital camera with its lens pointed towards me. A flashing red light next to the flash window signaled that the shutter had been pressed and I could only hold up two fingers to the camera.

After that, the red light from the camera kept flashing.

The digital camera took my picture until it was satisfied and then turned to take some other pictures. Mother's attention turned to the yellow athletes, who were all very tall. The green athletes were full of fat guys, the blue athletes were a mix of tall, short and fat guys, and all the students sitting in the stands of each color. And finally came back to take more pictures of me.

…I only found out after the photos from that day were put into an album.

Then the whistle for the match was whistled and the two ropes were pulled tight.

The results of the competition are still known.

There was no way that a purple team that was like a team full of students would be able to defeat another team that was made up of only fat children and had the enormous pulling power of a wild elephant. My teammates and I were determined to pull the rope back with all our might. I'm getting stronger. But the result of that effort was abrasions on both knees and hands.

Within the cheers of joy that rose from the green and blue stands, there were cheers of disappointment from the yellow and purple.

After the first round ended, I walked back to the sidelines with embarrassment and a burning sensation rising from my knees. But what shocked me even more than the crushing defeat was that there was no first or third place round in the tug of war. The decision was that the first blue team to defeat the yellow received the gold medal. Green, who defeated purple, was the next team to win the silver medal.

While third place went to Yellow who lost to Blue, mine to Purple went to last place.

Even the senior who was pulling the rope next to me complained that “Knowing this, I should have pretended to lose from the beginning.”

Surprisingly, everyone seemed to accept each other and I just laughed softly to myself. before returning to sit in the stands where I had just walked down.

The next race started and a lot of time had passed. When I regained consciousness I was sitting in the color row. Watching as my friends in the same color accepted the medals and brought them back to show to others to admire while I just sat there, dazed. Because the results of the competition came out in last place.

If there was a medal for me, it would probably be the “Lead Medal”.

After the award ceremony was finished, it was the closing ceremony of the sports day. The whole ceremony didn't take long before all the students were released to go home. The parents who were waiting outside the field came to pick up their children and admired the prizes they received with joyful expressions on their faces. Except for me, who walked up to the parents who were waiting outside the field with a hurt expression on their faces.

However, both hands caressed my head, followed by words of comfort like water dripping onto my parched heart.

"Even if you lose to him, it's okay. It's good to learn a lesson to improve yourself even more."

I could only nod lightly at those words of encouragement. The hand that had been clenched tightly began to loosen. I felt somewhat relieved.

Then my mother squatted down in front of her and her expression was very gentle.

"Daughter, you did your best. I would like to keep this memory as a souvenir so that you will know that I was once this cute in my life."

Mom held up the digital camera and smiled brightly, and Dad and I smiled as well. There's a picture of the three of us in the frame. Then the sound of the shutter being pressed and the image of us, parents and children, being recorded on the camera. But Mom probably forgot that it was evening and there wasn't enough light to take pictures, so the flash light came on.

And the image that was printed was only white all over.

Time passed until I entered middle school.

Today is a field trip camp for the whole school. Each grade level will get on the bus to go on a field trip to different places. I am a student in Mathayom 1. Had to travel by car to a zoo. After all grades of students stepped onto the bus without anyone missing as scheduled, all ten wheels turned to make the car move forward.

Rush hour traffic makes the distance only 20 km. Kilometers take almost the same time as traveling across provinces. Considered it was my luck that I brought game cards with me to play with friends, otherwise I might be like those who sit in the middle of the car with nothing to do but talk to other people, unwrap snacks to share with each other, and take a nap to pass the time.

When we got to the zoo it was 9:30 AM.

All Mathayom 1 students collected their bags from the bus in unison. I turned and looked to the side. I saw two types of people: if they weren't those who were so loud that the teacher had to tell them to be quiet, they were those who were so quiet that they needed to be told to talk to each other after everyone had distributed drinking water and lunch boxes and walked into the zoo. It is considered a friendly period for all students. They must be under the supervision of teachers who will disperse to take care of our safety at various points in the zoo.

I myself went my separate ways according to the map given out at the entrance while I was walking around admiring the animals alone. I heard my roommate shouting to me.

“Standing there all alone, why don't you come with us?”

When I turned around, I heard the sound of my male roommate, who was the head of the room, waving his hand and inviting me to come in. He was holding a smartphone in his hand. It was only then that I understood that after walking After entering, what should I do next? What I thought was really not wrong. But it made me feel a little less like it.

“Oh, I'm going now.”

I walked in as I was called and that's when the friend holding the cell phone stretched out his hand at arm's length. As for the others, they all took up poses that they thought would make them look their best. But the distance of the camera, which is just an arm's length away, may not capture all the photos and there will be many friends who are out of frame as expected.

After checking the photos and agreeing to take another photo, I hurriedly offered to take the photo.

"Can we please be the one taking the picture? If you hold it and take the picture like that, it won't feel right."

But my request was almost immediately rejected.

“It doesn't matter that we brought this one with us. Taking photos together with everyone was fun.”

The friend reached into his bag and pulled out a black plastic stick with a push button on one end like an umbrella but a clip on the other end. He inserted his cell phone into the end of the stick and stretched the joints of the stick to capture the image (or as it is commonly called, That is, the selfie stick) went out until everyone's pictures had been taken. The display screen captured our pictures just by pressing the capture signal on the handle.

The smiling faces of all friends were stored on the phone's memory card. After that, everyone changed their poses one after another. With me standing there holding up two fingers and smiling, forcing myself to stay like that alone.

An unknown source of boredom began to build up in my heart.

I'm starting to get tired of being photographed.

“To celebrate entering university, I came to take a picture with my mother.”

Moms no longer carry digital cameras that take up space in their bags. Three years ago, they started switching to compact touchscreen phones that can do more than just take photos. Now we Came to be at the beach with clear water. To celebrate the occasion that I will be starting my bachelor's degree program in a few months.

Just sitting and looking at the waves crashing on the sand made me feel very relaxed, but there was only one thing that interrupted my happiness. That is…a cell phone camera facing towards me.

Just seeing the camera lens turned towards me, whether the other person was taking the photo or just holding it. I was extremely dissatisfied.

“Can I please not take pictures?”

"Take a picture. We don't come here often. At least you'll know we're here."

Mother still called me to take pictures many times and I still shook my head and stood in the same place. I didn't go in to take photos.

A long time has passed. The situation started to get worse and I started arguing with my mother.

“In the past, when I took pictures of anything, my child always smiled and let me take pictures. But what has happened now?

“Well, I don't want to make any fuss about taking pictures. I'll just take pictures. I'll take a lot of pictures. People have limited patience too.”

“What do you mean when you say this?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it's enough? I don't want to take pictures. Want to take a photo? If so, take enough photos. And you don't have to call me to take pictures again!”

After that, I allowed my mother to take a photo with a sullen face and I refused to speak nicely. Again until I got home.

After the events of that day, no matter who pointed a camera or anything else that could take a photo, I Annoyance always appeared in my mind, or if it was possible I tend to avoid it early on. If there's me in the photo, I just get annoyed and try to ignore it and look past it.

Unless it's a photo taken from a very far distance and doesn't focus on me, then I'll let it go.

The only photo where I was willing to smile for the camera was the photo on graduation day.

Even though the events of that day had already passed a long time ago, I still have the habit of not liking being photographed. Whether it's taking a photo with someone or on any occasion, it can become so intense that you'll even hate seeing the camera lens turn at all.

Sometimes I still secretly feel sorry for myself. If my mother would just tone down her photo-obsessedness a little, I might not hate being photographed like I do now. And there might be more photos taken of me smiling.

I've always thought of myself like that.

But after a while I realized that this idea was completely wrong.

I don't hate taking photos, but I hate myself for not being able to accept taking photos.

Many more years passed until the day I had to experience the saddest thing in my life.

Just today...

I was sitting at work in a company when my phone vibrated until it hit my desk, making a loud noise. I was concentrating on the work I was doing and had to turn to pick up my phone and saw that it was an incoming call from my cell phone. It was Dad's phone, which he normally wouldn't call at a time like this unless it was a really big deal.

“Is there something wrong? Calling in at a time like this.”

I answered the phone and put the phone to my ear while still unable to take my eyes off the work I was doing.

“Baby, take good care of yourself, I mean... My child's mother…”

“What happened to your mother?”

Father's missing words made me feel uncomfortable. I tried not to ask what was going on. But in the end, I couldn't bear to ask the father who was holding the phone and sounded very embarrassed. Then something that came out of my father's mouth made me accidentally drop the phone on the floor and the call was cut off. The strength used to keep the back still from the chair was also reduced.

Mother has been sick for a while now and her symptoms are still getting worse. But it was always kept a secret from me.

I haven't been home for a long time, so I don't know anything. The last time I talked to my mother, she still had a strong tone. It seems that Mom asked no one to tell me about her serious illness and that her condition was getting worse while we were talking.

That day, I hurriedly took a leave of absence from work and went to the hospital where my mother was being treated. But even though I wanted to see his condition quickly, the traffic light wouldn't change to green for me. So I had to sit in the car with my heart so full it almost burst. But the sight I saw after reaching the hospital made my heart that was pumping full blood stop for a moment.

“Why are you like this?” I said unconsciously.

Mother's condition deteriorated, both emaciated and having an IV drip. It was as if the bright, clear voice I had heard on the phone all this time was just an illusion of a demon who didn't want me to know this reality. The hand holding the bag loosened until the contents fell to the ground. It was as if the entire world had been tinted with grey.

I dropped my bag and ran to the bedside and hugged her, but Mother's hand didn't have the strength to even lift it up to hug my waist.

“Why didn't you tell me about your illness? Why did you have to tell me now? Let's just say this is a bit sudden.”

With each word that was forced out with a smile, it felt like tears were constantly flowing down my face. But when he wiped his hand under his eyes, there wasn't a single drop of water left. It flowed in streams inside. But there were no "real" tears flowing down at all.

I'm too weak to accept this truth.

The truth that will be faced in the near future

I realized something. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I switched to photography mode and turned the front camera in to capture me and my mom in one frame. My face that was projected on the screen looked like I was about to cry. I tried to hold back the feeling. But it really didn't work.

I called everyone in the family into the frame and sounded as bright as possible. Until finally I had enough courage to say it.

“Let's take a photo together.”

Then the sound of the shutter being pressed sounded.

Just a few days after the last memories were captured, Mother passed away.

The events that happened that day were a huge loss in my life. I cried until there were no more tears left to shed. The sadness this time made me unable to stand up again. It buried me into a deep abyss in my heart that was difficult to climb back out of. To the point where I didn't have the courage to work for many months before I could accept it. The photos stored on my phone were still there but I didn't have the courage to open them and look at them.

At least until I'm confident I can stand on my own in a world where there are no more mothers.

Many more years have passed.

After losing my mother, I continued to live with a family that had one member reduced.

I received a promotion and increased salary, and had more subordinates and responsibilities to take care of. I realized that there was no use in being sad anymore as my mother's identity would still be in my memory. And it will never fade away, even if today I don't get angry with you about taking pictures that I don't like. Or when I come home I will talk to you again.

And today is a holiday where I will rest at home.

“My child! This place is already dirty. Come clean up a bit.”

“Yes, sir, I'm going now.” I put my hand down from the book I was reading and hurried to go as Father called.

Father is over 50 years old and his head has gray hair growing all over his head. When you have to do housework, it's not a good idea during holidays and weekdays when you have the opportunity. I always help lighten your burden and today is no different.

While sweeping the floor, my eyes fell on a photo of me receiving my graduation certificate with my parents. And the pictures taken of the whole family, including the two grandmothers who couldn't go to the graduation ceremony in their graduation gowns, were still in a picture frame in front of the television, which had a little bit of dust on it. I picked up both pictures and dusted them off. Then put it in the old place with care.

I cleaned it all the way down to the bookshelf under the television. It was so thick with dust that I had to get up and wipe it with a damp cloth. But the moment I turned around, my foot tripped over a stacked photo album and it fell to the floor. There was a photo that fell out of the album as if it was intentional. I picked it up and looked at it. And then, at that time, the flashback flashed back again.

“This photo, if there was a third place competition at that time, there would have been a chance to win a medal.”

The photo I'm holding is of me pulling a rope in a tug-of-war competition in elementary school. Until now, I still remember the feeling of defeat and the stinging sensation of my palm from the rope. The memories of those days are kept in the drawer of my heart. And that photograph was the key that opened that drawer.

After that, I opened the photo album that Mother had collected, even though it was taken a long time ago. But it's still in like new condition. Memories from my childhood were replayed again, even though most of them consisted of things that I didn't want to remember at all.

Tiny drops of water fell on the photo. I realized they were my tears when I lifted my finger to wipe the edge of my eye.

After looking at the photos until the last page of the album, not wanting the emotion to be cut short, I immediately rushed to find another album that was on the floor, but because there were so many albums on the floor all mixed together, I didn't know which one was the next one after the one I had just finished looking at, so I picked it up at random. Close and read one book.

But when I opened the album and of the nearly 100 photos inside, there wasn't a single photo of me in it.

And it's not just this book, most of the albums that are piled next to it. I now have a book with very few photos of me. In particular, there were only photos of me and my mother before high school. After entering undergraduate school, there were no more photos of me.

I remember my mother always keeping old photo albums carefully stored in cardboard boxes.

When I searched through it, I found an album with pictures of me secretly taken from before I started elementary school until I graduated and applied for a job. Normally I would have been so annoyed that I couldn't bear to see them. myself in the photograph, but why don't I feel that way today? My tears flowed more than before, even more than when I saw the old photos.

I couldn't keep my voice down any longer. The sound of a careless man was making noises inside this house.

On that day, I should have taken more pictures with him.