The first time I picked up a real camera, the kind with lots of buttons and a big lens, was in Hawaii. I was eight years old. My father took the strap and wrapped it around my neck, placed the body in my hands and told me to hold it straight.

I still fail to follow that last piece of advice on a regular basis (thank God for the crop tool). It took me until I was sixteen to save up for my first digital body, I bought it at a SkyTrain Station in Vancouver on my way to Nicaragua. The addictive force that has compelled me to give up sleep, time and money, move to the big city. While completing my degree at the University of British Columbia, I made it my job. I couldn’t be happier. 

My younger brother is now in possession of that first camera. I hope it serves him as well as it served me.

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