But I’ve always been a sucker for externals alone: the shape, the shine, what the surface suggests to my palm. So mechanically disinclined it’s verging on criminal, I never understood the beauty of an object’s workings until Linny sat my reluctant self down one day and showed me her camera. Within fifteen minutes, I had fallen hard for the whole gadgety, eyelike nature of the thing: a tiny piece of glass slowing, bending, organizing light – light – into your grandmother, the Grand Canyon, the begonia on the windowsill, the film keeping the image like a secret. Grandmother, canyon, begonia tucked neatly into the sleek black box, like bugs in a jar. My mind boggled.

But I’ve always been a sucker for externals alone: the shape, the shine, what the surface suggests to my palm. So mechanically disinclined it’s verging on criminal, I never understood the beauty of an object’s workings until Linny sat my reluctant self down one day and showed me her camera. Within fifteen minutes, I had fallen hard for the whole gadgety, eyelike nature of the thing: a tiny piece of glass slowing, bending, organizing light – light – into your grandmother, the Grand Canyon, the begonia on the windowsill, the film keeping the image like a secret. Grandmother, canyon, begonia tucked neatly into the sleek black box, like bugs in a jar. My mind boggled.

– Marisa de los Santos –

Belong to Me

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