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. After completing a marketing 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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