Albums | celainn's Blog

Recently, for whatever reason, I've been going over old photo albums.  When the parents died, I became the only keeper of the old photos.  Why?  I dunno.  Possibly because I was the only one who cared to have them. 

Possibly for some other, stranger, reason that I still can't fathom.

As I look at these pictures my mom took I notice how many there are of my brothers and my dad and how few there are of me. 

You'd think I'd take an easier picture, as I never really went anywhere and sat still for long periods of time.  But no.  Not even one third of these pics are of me. 

Maybe I didn't take a good picture. 

But, more than feeling slighted that there are so many pics of other people as kids that I see on the net, I feel...sad. 

What does it mean that there are so few of me as a kid?

I want to see who I was, as if I could figure myself out that way.  I want reminders of my past, but even that is denied me.

I feel like if there were only more pictures, I could remember more and that more of my past would come alive that way.  Maybe I could rid myself of shadows and doubt if I had concrete evidence of my past.

Yea, but probably not.  I'd just use them as another thing to obsess over and dwell on. 

Less is more, right?