The very first shot I took not just for show — it wasn't a tower, a sunset, or a portrait. It was a cracked glass of water in my grandmother's kitchen. I was staying with her after school, and I remember how that day I didn't want anything — except to lie down under the blanket and hide from everything. But I saw how the light came through the crack differently, as if from the inside. I clicked on an old phone — and suddenly something inside fell into place.

Then I began to notice: an old key on a dusty shelf, sleeping cats, baskets full of apples, warped frames. The ordinary became special if you look closely. I realized that photography is not about technique. It's about "noticing." Catching the world by surprise.

The hardest thing is not to be afraid that the photo will be “not perfect”. Sometimes I look back at my old photos and see not the frame, but myself then. My fear of losing something. My dreams that I never told anyone about. My unsaid things.

It’s funny, but when you start looking at everything as a frame, you stop cursing the rain, carelessly spilled tea, socks scattered on the floor. These are all textures, details, little stories that you can “catch” and hide in your pocket.
And even if no one sees them, you will remember.

Sometimes I think: maybe it’s like this in life too? We chase after perfect pictures, but everything real is hidden somewhere on the side of the frame. In a blurry smile, in a stained T-shirt, in an imperfect morning. Why not love that too?

Now I increasingly take pictures just for myself. Photos that I don’t post. I like to imagine that someone will one day open an old flash drive and wonder: “Why did you take this off?” And I would answer: “Because it was alive.”