By: Kynch Lynn A. Gonzales
(Published in its print edition on August 30 – September 5, 2025)
I don’t remember the exact moment I “started” photography. Because in truth, I felt like I’ve been holding a camera my whole existence. Long before I knew what ISO or shutter speed meant, I was already capturing moments—my cousins playing, a random flower by the road, or the moon that looked like the sun because of wrong settings. But it wasn’t just me taking pictures. That was how I observed the world. That was how I noticed the small, quiet details that often went unseen.
When I finally got my hands on an old camera, that habit turned into something more. What started as random snapshots slowly grew into real opportunities. I began with school events, then moved on to church activities, then fiestas, debuts, baptisms, municipal programs, weddings, and even historical commemorations. Each of those experiences helped shape who I am today—the lessons I learned, the people I met, the stories I was lucky to witness.
I still remember my first few times covering events. Some people already knew who I was, but many didn’t. Some even thought I was a tourist or just a visitor because they barely saw me around. I’m not the type who always goes outside—maybe only when my parents ask me to buy something. So seeing me with a camera, in the middle of a crowd, was new to them—and honestly, it was new to me too.
This camera helped me become close to my community. At almost every event I go to, I see the same familiar faces. Over time, after seeing each other again and again, we’ve grown more comfortable with one another. We get along easily now, like we’ve shared a quiet friendship built through years of being present in each other’s lives. Even the elders, who used to be camera-shy or didn’t like having their pictures taken, have become more open and relaxed. Some of them even smile the moment they see me with my camera. What once felt awkward created a space for trust.
I fell in love even more with our cultures and traditions when I entered photography, as I started participating in them. The stories I’ve gathered at every event, every gathering, and every corner of the island have strengthened the closeness we’ve built. I might as well have fallen in love with every details of the island—the natural landscapes, the roads, and the people. All the connections we’ve created have become something like a safe space, a place where we share our stories, whether joyful or sorrowful, and where every memory feels valued and preserved.
Photography, for me, is more than just taking pictures. It has become a means of service. In Itbayat, where there aren’t many photographers, I realized I could do more than just document. I could give people something to remember—photos they could treasure during important moments. I’ve captured weddings and baptisms so families can relive their joy. I’ve taken pictures after typhoons to inform and comfort loved ones residing beyond the island, bridging distances with images. I’ve documented events and milestones, keeping a record of our history and culture.
Of course, there’s pressure. What if files get corrupted? What if people don’t like the photos? What if I miss an important moment? Those thoughts stay in the back of my mind. But at the end of the day, I remind myself that this is bigger than me.
This camera—this old, trusted, and sometimes struggling camera—helped me connect. With people. With my home. With myself. Through every click, I saw my community more clearly.
Not just for young people, but for everyone: try to see photography not only as your personal journey but also as a way to preserve our traditions and cultural heritage. Pick up your camera, or even your phone. Document festivals, the landscapes that might one day be replaced by buildings, the people, the roads that will soon be widened, your families, and your friends. Share your stories. Capture the small details that define us. Through your lens, you can make sure our history, our culture, and our moments are remembered—not just as photos, but as living memories for future generations. Photograph while taking part in these moments, and let every click help tell our story.
It all began with a click. And I’m still clicking.#
