A father and son at the train station

the question

A few weeks ago, I met a father and son from Africa at a train station.

The father was taking a photo of his son. Whenever I see this kind of moment, I usually feel the urge to offer help. The person holding the camera is often the one missing from the photograph.

So I walked up to him and asked if he would like me to take a photo of both of them together.

The father looked at me and asked:

“Are you a photographer?”

Without thinking, I said:

“I’m learning. I’m trying to become a good photographer.”

I thought it was an honest answer. It sounded humble.

Then he smiled and said:

“No thank you!”

I froze.

I didn’t know what to say. I only wanted to help them keep a shared memory. I didn’t pretend to be someone I was not.

It is true that I always refuse to be called a photographer.

The uncomfortable part was not simply being rejected by a stranger. What stayed with me was the question he asked before he said no:

Are you a photographer?

I realized that I did not know how to answer that question.

being honesty or not

The word “photographer” should not be reduced to a piece of equipment. Buying a camera and pressing the shutter does not necessarily make someone a photographer.

If I keep refusing to call myself a photographer, is it really honesty? Will this kind of honesty cost me opportunities? If I lied to my conscience and pretended to be a photographer, the father would let me take a portrait of them in a great extent, but I will question myself why I lied?

Am I a bit over self-conscious? Am I too serious on myself? Who cares about you still learning instead they care about your identity.

I think there is nothing wrong with "I am still learning and to become a good photographer” sentence. I hope I will always be learning. Anyone who takes photography seriously should remain a student as always.

then who am I

So if I am not a photographer, who am I?

I wrote before saying I am no photographer I still agree with.

Maybe I am simply a person who notices things. A person who walks slower because of light. A person who turns around for a shadow, a gesture, a window, a stranger’s posture, a quiet corner of the city. A person who wants to keep certain moments from disappearing too quickly.

I always feel being called a photographer is heavy to me. It is probably because I am not confident that my pictures are widely accepted - pictures you like it but others don’t.

becoming a...

Maybe “photographer” is not a title that gets handed to you after you pass a certain test. It is not a certificate, a medal, or a professional license. Maybe it is a direction you choose repeatedly.

When I pick up a camera and pay attention to light, people, streets, and space, I am already moving toward that identity.

When I notice a father taking a photo of his son and think about the person missing from the frame, I am already seeing the world through a photographer’s instinct.

When I keep photographing, editing, questioning, reading, and writing about photography, I am no longer just a person who owns a camera.

I am not a professional photographer.
I am not a master.
I still have a lot to learn.

But maybe I can say this more truthfully now:

I am a photographer who is still learning.

Those two things can exist together.

Naming It

I used to feel uncomfortable with the phrase “fake it until you make it.” I still do. The word “fake” does not sit well with me. I do not want to pretend. I do not want to package myself as someone I am not. I do not want to use an inflated identity to gain someone’s trust.

But maybe the problem is the word “fake.”

I do not need to fake anything.

I can simply name the direction I am walking toward.

Maybe a better phrase is:

Name it until you grow into it.

A writer does not become a writer only after publishing a book.
A runner does not become a runner only after finishing a marathon.
A photographer does not become a photographer only after everyone else agrees.

Sometimes, identity is not a destination. It is a practice.

humility

This does not mean I should exaggerate. It does not mean I should pretend to be more experienced than I am. It simply means I can stop making myself smaller in the name of honesty.

There is a difference between saying:

“I am a professional photographer.”

and saying:

“I am a photographer.”

There is also a difference between humility and self-erasure.

The first one keeps me open to learning.
The second one quietly takes me out of the room before I even enter it.

next time

So next time, if something like this happens again, I want to answer differently.

I don’t need to explain myself too much.
I don’t need to apologize for still learning.
I don’t need to turn my uncertainty into the first thing people hear.

Maybe I can simply smile and say:

“I’m a photographer. I’d be happy to take one for you.”

Or even more naturally:

“I take photos. I can help if you’d like.”

That would not be a lie.

It would be a more generous way of speaking to myself.

the doorway

That day at the train station, I did not take a photo for the father and son.

But maybe they gave me another kind of photograph.

A photograph of myself.

In that image, I am standing at the doorway of an identity, holding a camera in my hand, still wondering whether I am allowed to step inside.

Now I think I can take one step forward.