Tag Archives: life

How to Photograph a Funeral

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While photographing a funeral may seem morbid to some, it is normal in some cultures to want to capture the moment. Funerals tend to be one of the very few times where entire families and friends gather in a room, even those who haven’t seen each other for 10 years. Asian funerals tend to have a lot of tradition and are quite interesting to document.

To be honest when grandma asked me to photograph grandpa’s funeral, I thought it was weird. I thought I would be shy, break down (well I did occasionally), or that it would be awkward. However, I learned a lot from this experience and think I became a much better photographer because of it.

Here are a few tips:
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1. No Flash
Having a photographer at a funeral can be awkward enough for some visitors, don’t be intrusive with a giant flash. I used my 50mm 1.8 lens for the majority of the shots so that I could absorb the most light as well as purposely blur backgrounds.

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2. Be Considerate
Funerals can be a great opportunity to be photojournalistic, but at the same time you have to still be sensitive. Don’t stick cameras in people’s faces and be as invisible as possible. In my case, it was a little bit more difficult because I was part of the immediate family.

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3. Edit Photos to Fit The Mood
Photos shouldn’t really be high of contrast and colour, that doesn’t really fit the mood of a funeral (or at least not the ceremony/wake). Don’t “bloom” your photos, apply appropriate filters that aren’t too bright and cheery. A mix of black and white and colour is okay too.

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4. Watch People Interact With Each Other
Chances are if you’ve been asked to photograph a funeral, the person doesn’t just want to remember the deceased, but also all those who came out.

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5. Be Confident
If you act like you are unsure you are supposed to be there, than it makes it awkward for everyone else too. If you’re confident than people will know you are doing your job.

If you ever get asked to photograph a funeral, treat it as a honour to help someone keep their last memories of a loved one. For now, most of the photos are for my family’s eyes only but they are some of the most intimate and emotionally beautiful photographs that I have ever taken.
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Bullying Affects All.. To This Day

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Growing up, I was the bookworm, the nerd, the keener, the teacher’s pet. The smart ass. By grade five, I also had ridiculous glasses. I was constantly called names, made fun of. Pens thrown at me. Despite being a skinny Asian girl, I had a negative self-image. It wasn’t until later in University that I truly felt beautiful.

Talking about bullying isn’t an easy thing. Friends and parents tell you to “ignore it” that it’s just kids being kids. That was much easier said than done.

My boyfriend showed me Shane Koyczan’s To This Day Project. The poem, written by Koyczan features work from animators and motion artist who worked together to provide 20 second segments in their unique style. Tied together with some emotionally charged reading and powerful music they aim to share the impacts of bullying.

I may be older now but there are still outstanding effects of being bullied. I have self-confidence and anxiety issues that I still deal with from time to time. However, if I learnt anything over the last couple of years, it is to be true to myself. And to share the experiences, because that’s the only way for people to acknowledge that bullying hurts and is much more common than they realize.

The Only Things I Remember From Having Leukemia

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It wasn’t until I was around 20 that I learnt why I was sick when I was around 4. Growing up I just periodically had to go to Sick Kids for checkups every year and I just assumed it was a regular routine thing for a growing child. I’m completely healthy now, whatever strain of leukemia I had (I’m still somewhat unclear on all the details), it was curable. Doctor visits have become much less frequent and trying to recall the events of back then is actually rather difficult. Here are some things I do remember:

I remember my doctor’s name was Dr. Freeman. Other than that, I don’t remember what he looks like. Every time I try to picture him I get the image of Colonel Sanders from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Maybe that is what he looked like.

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I remember ALF came to visit me in the hospital and it was fuckin’ frightening for a 4 year old. Also I’m pretty sure I still have the pogs he gave me.
alfI remember playing with a kitchen set. It was yellow, and I loved pretending to cook pretend food.

I remember wearing a weird fanny pack for a while when I was out of the hospital. It made me feel like a robot. Around the same time my parents also threw out all the microwaves and we weren’t allowed to have them until 10 years later.

I remember making friends with a girl name Sarah. She had down syndrome. I wonder where she is now and how she is doing.

What I don’t  remember is what it felt like to be sick or how I got there. I don’t remember all the depressing parts of being sick. I have Sick Kids Hospital to thank for that.

I’m Never Buying You A Watch

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Mom told me never to buy a clock for a Chinese person. In Chinese culture, the words for “giving a clock” also sound like the ones for a funeral ritual. It also symbolizes that your time is running out and considered an offensive gesture.

When I was in high school I dated this guy for a couple of months. I saved up money for what would be our first Christmas to buy him this shiny GUESS watch. When I finally bought it, I’d take it out of the box occasionally to bask in the glory of its shininess. I gave it to him for Christmas and he was delighted. However, it stopped working after a week and a little while later we broke up. 14 year old me was devastated.

In college, I found the perfect gift for the vest-wearing guy I was with at the time. It was a pocket watch. The back had a hole that displayed the inner-workings of the ticking clock. The outside was a shiny silver with interesting carvings and the innards were gold. It was wind-up power so it never needed battery. I’m 88% I got it engraved. Anyways, I gave it to him, the spring broke and a week later he broke up with me for another girl. In hindsight, he was probably an asshole.

Now fast-forward and I am with somebody who appreciates me for me and I am the happiest I have been for years. Nash, you are stuck with me forever because I’m never buying you a watch.

Being An Imperfect Musician

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I played piano today, and I enjoyed it. This was a statement I had not been able to say for a long time.

Over a year ago I had posted about rekindling my love for the instrument, but it never really happened. Life got in the way- or so I thought.

I blamed a lot of not playing on being busy, which I was with various internships. I also pushed the piano aside because Teddy (my precious little puppy) hated the sound and would howl whenever any instrument was played.

Though the above were contributing factors, none of them really explained why I was avoiding the piano. The truth was that in fourth year after a rather disastrous jury, I was tired and frustrated at the piano.

I am a big cognitive science junkie. In Levtin’s book This is Your Brain On Music he talks about how 10,000 hours of practice makes a great musician. I calculated that if I started piano when I was five and averaged about 2 hours a day since then (with the long hours in my advanced years evening out the early years and holidays) that it amounted to something like 12,410 hours. This was approximate number of hours I had spent at a piano from when I was 5 up to the day of my piano jury when I was 22 (I am currently 24).

It was disheartening having put in more than the required 10,000 hours and be far from “perfect”. This anxiety had caused me to be afraid of performing in front of other people. “What if I mess up?” was a constant worry during the hours spent in university practice rooms. The consequence of this unease was more intense practicing and the development of carpel tunnel (which I am happy to say I don’t have any more).

Today I sat at the piano without too much thought about it. I picked up a book of Chopin waltzes and simply started playing. I realized some of my strengths:
1. I am a great sight reader.
2. If I played a song once, my fingers will remember it forever no matter how long it’s been since I last played it.

Though imperfectly, it was nice to be playing again, especially the music of my favourite composer. Now that I am out of school (and finished RCM exams), I don’t have to be playing under the pretense of needing to be perfect or performing for somebody else. I can also explore pieces that excite me and not have to drill them to perfection. I want to continuously enjoy performing for myself. And for me, imperfect is okay.