Observed
On always being behind the lens, feeling invisible at parties, and the rare joy of being caught off-guard
It has been months — yes, months — since my last entry on this platform. I somehow forgot that I still exist here, until a specific memory made me come back to check in.
Anyway, let’s get to the main topic of today: Observed.
In late 2025, I bought myself a mirrorless camera on Vinted for around 300 euros, thanks to my internship salary. It’s a Sony A6000, barely used by the previous owner. I wouldn’t really call myself an artistic person, and I wouldn’t even call what I do “photography” — I just like snapping pictures of things and people around me. And editing, too. I love capturing moments, and of course, my cats at home.
Ever since then, I’ve brought my camera everywhere, especially on trips and holidays. If you follow me on Instagram or saw my previous posts, you already know how eager I am to shoot.
Of course, the moment people realize you own a functioning, “official” camera, you’re bound to become the designated event photographer. Since I’m part of the Editorial Bureau in the local Malaysian students’ association, I’m always asked to cover events. I’ve even been compensated as the main photographer for a major event — which gave me a real glimpse into journalism and a massive respect for Mass Communication students and journalists dealing with demanding event managers.
Don’t get me wrong, being trusted to capture celebrations is cool. Even the editing process is fun for me — seeing how rough my raw shots look from an insider’s perspective and working to make them presentable. (Your average Instagram story viewer won’t notice the heavy lifting done in post anyway.) Most people only care about whether they looked “ready,” whether their eyes were closed, or whether their pose looked cool.
By the end of the day, you have an album full of everyone else’s poses, emotions, and memories, and not a single frame with you in it. And honestly? It sucks.
When I look back at parties and celebrations where I brought my camera, my face shows up in maybe 1 out of 100 photos, if I’m lucky. Once, I volunteered at a flagship cultural event. I dressed up specifically for the occasion, only to leave with a single photo of myself — and only because I asked a friend to take it. Later in the evening, some random kids decided to play around with my camera, resulting in one more shot where I looked completely unready and ridiculous.
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I took 400 pictures of other people that day. I left with 3 of myself.
Am I mad? Not really. Am I sad and frustrated? Definitely.
I spend so much energy capturing everyone else, yet nobody thinks to snap a picture of me. It makes you feel underappreciated — like you only exist in the room because of the gear around your neck. My existence felt like an intersubjective reality (thank you, Harari — I love your words, even if I think your ideas are bullshit), where people only notice and value my presence when I’m holding a lens. When I leave the camera at home, I’m just another face in the crowd.
It’s not that I want to be the center of attention; I just want to be more than “the guy with a camera.” Maybe I’m asking for too much. Even among my friends who own cameras, it’s a gamble, some take incredible shots of me, while others put zero effort into my photos while expecting me to shoot theirs like a magazine editorial.
These past few months have been wild, to say the least. I went on a semester exchange program in Hungary, and of course, the camera came with me. Living and studying in Budapest is a huge chapter in my life, and I had to document the Parliament at night.
When friends came to visit, I brought the camera out to recreate those classic aesthetic shots by the river. Luckily, my friends here actually know how to handle a camera (maybe that sounds a bit rude, but they genuinely took some of the best photos of me I’ve had in a long time).
Which brings me to the photo at the top of this post. It was taken recently by a close friend of mine, Nureena, during our trip to Bulgaria, using her DJI camera.
And looking at it, I realized the whole point of why I’m writing this:
I like being photographed. I love it. Especially when it’s candid. From behind, from the side, from the front — every angle. I love being captured, especially when I’m focused on tweaking my camera settings. As much as I love documenting other people, being documented myself makes me feel alive. I never knew I was capable of making the expressions I see in those candid frames.
So yeah, to end this: Please capture me. (In a photo, I mean. For anything more literal, we’ll have to wait on that.)
