Photo-Op

STRANGER THAN FICTION

by Jeneen R. Garcia

Published in May 2002

One of  the more embarrassing things about my parents is their love—no, compulsion—for taking photos. No opportunity passed up, the flash goes off everywhere: malls, hotel lobbies, sidewalks, parlors.

Even bathrooms. And I don’t mean cutesy shots of naked babies in a bathtub. I mean me and my siblings, all grown up, with the bathroom mirror of some resort as backdrop. Father’s orders, don’t ask me.

They love to travel. Thus, we have pictures of cockpits with amused pilots and stewards, the beaming captain and crew of different sorts of ships (including a submarine), but fortunately none with a bus driver yet, though the Davao-Manila bus route is a favorite.

I didn’t think it was that bad till I graduated from college. We were in a classy restaurant for a joint graduation dinner with my friends’ families. As we stood looking for a table, my parents whipped out a camera for the waiter. My epiphany only came when someone beside me said, “This is sooo embarrassing!”.

My brothers and I now refuse to pose in public. As a result, my mother has taken to shooting without our consent. Eating, baking, standing in line, lying sick in bed, playing in a video arcade—you name the pose and we’ve got it in some album.

It took an absurd turn during my lola’s funeral. After the mass everyone was made to pose by the coffin according to affiliation. You know how they ask sets of relatives to stand on the church steps beside the newlyweds? That was exactly how it went, except no one knew whether the proper thing to do was smile or cry.

Speaking of absurd, I was in Romblon recently for a workshop. The intent was to promote tourism there, but alas, it backfired. At departure time, our ship was moored 5 kilometers away from the pier, because another ship scheduled to leave an hour and a half later had docked first. The airconditioning in our quarters had apparently broken down so we had to downgrade. Worse, we were told we needed lifeboats to get to the ship because its steering was defective. And as we stood waiting, rain clouds loomed over our heads.

Then along came the governor, the owner of the two ships. Before I knew it, his bodyguards had us organized in a pictorial. Right after, the bishop arrived to send us off. Click! Another shot. Years of conditioning have warped me. Like Pavlov’s dog, I automatically smiled at the sight of the camera. At least they have my picture because they’ll never see me there again.

Before it’s too late, heed my advice: kids, don’t do this to your kids!