Home Sweet Home

It's just before 4am and I'm still awake. The ambiance from my laptop brightens up my entire room, casting shadows of me on my empty walls--reminding me of how the moon glistened over the South Pacific on a clear, breezy night.

From afar, I remember seeing the waves rolling in, faintly losing its force as it merely reached the shores. And like a child waiting for his turn on the swing, I smiled to myself, saw the ebb and flow of rolling tides, much like the kinetics of a child swinging through the air.

So tonight, I'm smiling to myself, yet again. And like the moving tides that slowly crept ashore, I've returned home. I'm healthy and I'm well. My assignment, despite challenging times on both physical, mental, and technical fronts, can now be proclaimed as a successful mission. I've found that image I had set out to capture, and now, I'm back to let my body, mind, and soul catch up with life itself.

I said hello to my car today. Ate my mom's 5 course home cooked meal. Took a shower with water I can safely swallow. And as I'm typing this, I'm trying to fall asleep on a bed that I can proudly call 'mine.'

And after reading back on my posts and going through all the comments that you have left, I thank you for your support, your well wishes and your encouragement. It meant the world to me while I was out there. From Facebook messages to emails and blog comments, you were my lifeline with unrelenting support. Thank you.

I will be resting for the rest of the week and through the weekend. Come Monday, it's back to the corporate grind--planning yet again, my next mission.

Count down to next assignment: 3 weeks.

I'm Heading Home

Too Damn Tired

Photo: Filming a sunrise on remote island in Hawaii.

When I started this blog, my goal was to take you behind my lens, to show what it's like to live the life of a photographer, to see and feel, touch and taste--virtually, my experiences. And by doing so, I've opened to you my heart, my emotions at its darkest hours, and my soul. Yet, as I'm sitting here typing, my mind is in an utterly-sublime state--trying desperately to find words, to find rhyme and reason for a blog entry that I have no energy to type--but I just feel the need to connect with none other than you--my dear readers.

Because, I know that you will understand.

Mentally, physically, and spiritually, I'm exhausted. My travels have taken me to the end of the world and back, straddling a fine line between equators and time zones, nations and continents that I had once only dreamt of. I can't explain to you in words the feeling of accomplishment, the sheer fact that I can say 'I've been there.' But as my fingers dictate my mental thoughts into printed prose, I cannot lie to you. I cannot sit here and tell you that my travels have been easy--because it hasn't.

Hotels without toilets. Vomiting on the open seas. Camping on lava fields. Sleepless nights with a knife in my hand. Taking showers twice a week. Finding salvation by looking at myself in the mirror.

Right now, I'm too exhausted to care where I am, what I'm seeing or who I'm with. I'm just too damn tired.

This, my friends, is the raw truth of what it's like to do what I do.

***
Status Update: Currently filming on remotes islands off Hawaii. Home in three days.

Lonely Traveler

Photo: Filming on the lava fields of Samoa.
Current Location: On Assignment in Melbourne, Australia

On this journey, I've seen stars fly graciously through the night, felt the warm-tropic breeze flicker the hair on my arms, saw sunset and sunrise, and watched in rapture as the moon glistened brightly above the ocean floor. I listened to the waves as it crashed ashore, saw the rolling tides go back and fourth--and like the rhythmic beat of my heart, it played its tune in perfect harmony.

I've seen night for day and day for night. I've witnessed my world flipped inside out, felt the winds of change, heard the cry of an infant soul, and even touched the hands of an angel--only to realize that it wasn't yours.

Closing my eyes to savour the moment, I'd lose myself in the vast abysses of space and time, journey through hell and back, and silently fall to my knees. But when I open my eyes, I'd see the world in all its beauty, find myself in here and now, present and future all before me.

So with every step and every breath, every minute of every day, I dream of you. And like the stars that linger in the sky, like the raindrops that fall from heaven above, he is watching--you and I.

Which is why on this journey, and every journey, I can see the world unlike any other. I see mountains move, rivers flow and streams collide. I see love and lust, life and laughter. I see beauty where I least expect, find happiness when all is frail. But no matter where I am or what I see, how I feel or who I meet--without you, life is empty--like the wind that howls in the void, the darkness that fill my midnight hours.

"I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought I'd see you again." -James Taylor

The Prime Minister and I

Photo: Ron Sim and the Honourable Tuila'epa Sailele Malielegaoi, Prime Minister of Samoa.

You know, there comes a time in everyone’s life when things “just happen,” stars align and the sun and the moon match perfectly in an orchestrated harmony of events that no one can really explain how or why it happens. It “just happens.” There’s no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it!

So when the Prime Minister (Bud, as he prefers me to call him) and I met today, I felt my world melt into a pan of succulent sauces—mixing and churning, blending and whipping like a machine you’d only buy on the Shopping Channel. It was the same feeling I felt when I first watched the O.J Simpson trial ten years ago—when everything just fell into place--you know, how the glove fits perfectly and all? Or maybe it was just a sign of nervousness from my lactose intolerant stomach. Whatever it was, all I cared about was the fact that I was meeting the big PM—the Priiiime Minister of Samoa!

It all came as a surprise, really. When I woke up this morning, I had no idea I was going to meet such a high ranking official. Heck, to be honest with you, I was dressed for the jungle. I even had my buck-knife on me!

But nonetheless, he welcomed me with open arms. We firmly shook hands. His was bigger than mine, obviously. And mine was a bit sweaty too. But we looked at each other, locked eyes and instantly confirmed our masculinity by abruptly letting go of each others hands and nodding at each other like what “real” men do.

He offered me a seat, so I sat. He crossed his legs, so I crossed mine. And when he smiled, I proudly showed him my pearly whites in return.

We talked of politics, the environment, corporate social responsibility with some of the worlds largest companies, our favorite foods, my camera, and of course, MJ. Thriller was his favorite, he said.

There were times when I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded my head and smiled. He nodded his in return. But, as we progressed thru our meeting, I felt like we had bonded like brothers--sorta like from another mother, ya know. He was cool! And in his eyes, I think he thought the same about yours truly!

When it was time to say our goodbyes, I promised him I’d email, keep in touch and never forget about our meeting. I also gave him the link to my blog.

When he stood up to show me out, I felt like going for a hug, but being the professional that I am, I was waiting for him to initiate the gesture—you know, by him leaning forward 10% meant he wanted a hug—which at that point I’d go for the 90% remaining. But, as mathematical formulas do tend to go astray, I opted for a handshake—said goodbye and walked out. I peaked over my shoulder for one last glance, but being the busy man that he is, he was no longer to be seen.

The sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the hallway as I cheerfully walked out.

***

Authors Note:
If you buy me a beer one day, I’ll tell you how it really went down between me and the PM.

Just A Matter of Photogenicology

(Currently on foreign assignment in Samoa.)

Sorry, but I'm going to vent a little on this blog of mine. But don't worry, it's nothing offensive--just a case of being at the right place at the wrong time.

It all started this morning when I woke up in my triple-bed hotel room. Walking into the bathroom with no lights on, I literally stepped into the bowl that so graciously represents my toilet. Turning the shower on, my body prepared itself for a rude-awakening--a rush of freezing cold water gushing at my body and all its vital parts. Standing there, I tried to think of happy thoughts, you know, like: eating mom's home cooked meals, taking a dump on a toilet seat, sleeping on a bed that smells like Tide fabric softener, drinking water without having to worry if its purified, or having the luxury of eating at a restaurant with friends--instead of sitting there all alone trying to pretend I'm busy by checking my text messages, returning email, or taking notes when, in actuality, I really have no internet or phone connection. Yeah, I'm a loser, aint' I?

But anyways, that's not why I'm venting, nor is it the subject of my rant. It's really just a microcosm of my male-menstrual cycle snowballing into something much grandeur--much more significant than day dreaming in a cold, frigid shower.

Ultimately, it's a matter of photogenicology--you know, the genetic ability to photographically frame a shot, capture images that bring viewers to the edge of begging for more, the art of making them wish they were there with you--behind the lens, holding your bags or wiping your brow. It's something that I thought I had all along, until today.

Proving myself to be nothing more than a camera-whore with a sex drive of six frames per second, I stood there on that mountain, looking down at one of the most beautiful water falls I've ever seen in my entire-adult life. With my Canon 5D in hand, I mounted a 24-70 lens. Resting her on my brand new-state of the art 6x carbon fiber tripod, I was ready to capture one of the most amazing pictures I'll ever take--from now, til the day I shit on a regular toilet again.

Pressing down on the shutter to get a meter reading, I instantly knew I was doomed. Doomed!

You see, the water fall was situated in a deep under brush--with tree's hovering over it, much like how I hover over my toilet bowl. Directly above it, was the sun, pounding brightly on the tree's covering the water fall. In order to show the magnitude of this waterfall, I had to capture both the waterfall and the trees covering it. But with the sun changing, constantly casting shadows, and sometimes even over blowing both the water and trees, the sun was driving my camera crazy--my camera was driving me insane! I felt like I was going into men-o-pause.

The result: a photo with the waterfall perfectly exposed, but the tree's washed out in white. Or the other way around.

So, there you have it--this is why I'm venting. I was at the right place but at the wrong time (of day). I would've stayed there all night if I could, but my guide suggested we head back before night fall.

I promise you: I'll be back! (Said like Arnold did in T2). Baahhahahahha!!!!! And no, I'm not drunk right now! I blame everything on the bowl...the toilet bowl!

Safe in Samoa

I’ve just arrived, and already, it has been a long journey.

Having spent the last two days in flight (with one stopover in Los Angeles), I can feel my body grinding to a halt, slowly adjusting to the ever changing ebb and flow of my internal clock. I’m tired. My mind is telling me that it’s bed time, but as I walked off the plane, the sun permeates through my pores with unrelenting heat.

A bright yellow sign reads “Welcome to Samoa!”

Before coming here, I had no idea where Samoa was on the map. New Zealand and Australia were the closest geographical landmarks that could give me some sort of bearing as to where I am. I’ve been so busy before coming here that I never had the chance to open a map. I still have no idea where Samoa is located. But in a way, I kinda like not knowing.

The hotel that I booked isn't the greatest. No hot water. No internet. No food. No security. No curtains on my windows. Not even a toilet seat on my toilet. I guess I just have to do the “hover maneuver.” My toilet consist of a bowl—a big bowl! My room has three beds, though--and I don’t know why. I just hope I’m not supposed to be sharing with anyone.

Blogspot has crashed three times while I'm typing this--so I'm going to push publish before I lose everything again. I'll write more when I get to an area with better connection.

Be well,
Ron

Sleepless Night

At night, just before I close my eyes and put myself to rest, I think of them--the family that fed me in the jungle, the little boy that played peek-a-boo with my camera, or the old man in India that talked to me about the U.S Presidential election by simply saying the only two foreign names he knew: "McCain, Obama." And when I asked him who he would vote for if he could, he simply shook his head. Priceless.

It's strange. Sometimes, in the midst of trying to fall asleep, I'd toss and turn, look for comfort, only to find myself lost in reflection--drowning in a sea of memories--memories that, at the time, seemed more like moments of wasted thought. But in retrospect, those are the moments that mean the most to me.

When I first started traveling extensively, I promised myself that I'd savour every moment of my adventures--every step and every breath had to mean the world to me. But after a while, slowly, either by choice or fate, I forgot about the promise I had made to myself--and ultimately, my mind began to ease; and like an epiphany in the making, I saw more than the destination, more than the excitement that defined the term "traveling," and realized that my purpose for traveling was to understand, to view the world in a different light. And by doing so, I see so much more than the obvious, the normal and the plain. I see things take shape, elements colliding in an ever changing world--creating a symphony of sublime intervention not noticeable to the naked eye.

So as I lay here tonight, trying to fall asleep, I am reminded not of the places I've been or the attractions I've paid to see, but of the people I've met--the people who mean the world to me, those who enter my life for reasons beyond my control. And because of them, I am able to enjoy my travels without having to worry about the destination; because I know that I'm brought there for a reason--no matter where it may be.

And like love, life is blind. You just never know where you'll be, who you'll meet or why you're doing what you do. It's the beauty of living.

Tomorrow morning I depart for another whirlwind trip around the world--on foreign assignment in Samoa, Australia, and Hawaii.

Hmmm, I wonder why I can't fall asleep tonight...

Video Blog Post

For the first time ever, a video blog from yours truly. I'm embarassed! It includes a few out-takes and a commentary. I hope you enjoy, and please, spare the tomatoes.

Mr. and Mrs. Tooth Fairy

Growing up, the tooth fairy never existed. With my tooth tucked under my pillow, I'd wait for days--sometimes months in anticipation. Every morning when I awoke, my little fingers would slowly lurk under my pillow, looking for the shiny quarter that my teacher had taught us to look for. Unfortunately, Mrs. Fields failed to tell my parents of such a trick--and being the immigrant parents that they were, they would've laughed hysterically at anything remotely as weird as a tooth fairy.

It took my parents 10 years to acknowledge that they were supposed to be Mr. and Mrs. Tooth Fairy. I was sixteen by then.

Anyways, fast forward a few years and I here I am, on the eve of extracting two wisdoms out of my mouth. My stomach churns just thinking about it. Please pray for me. I'm scared shitless. (Sorry, God for swearing in this post).

And to make up for all those quarters that never showed up under my pillow, I've asked my parents for $25 (inflation). My dad, however, failed to realize that I was being sarcastic and actually handed over the cash. It's about time, dad....it's about time!!!

In War, I Found Myself

During my training last week, I was disgusted after viewing raw video footage of a student being struck by a bullet in the Middle East. Through the whole ordeal, the cameraman on the scene found it exciting to capture the student falling to the ground. With multiple angles, he cold heartedly shoved his camera into the students face as he laid there dying, screaming in pain. As a shooter who has worked in hostile environments, I was sad to see a fellow photog being blinded by his own lens. It inspired me to write the short journal entry below:

**********

When I was younger, my dream was to one day film in war zones. At night, I'd read extensively about the Vietnam war, about the men and women of Alpha company landing in hot LZ's (landing zones), and how friends and foes would shed their blood, take a life, lose life. But in the midst of it all were the photographers capturing images that gave meaning to life, the living and the dead. It brought the war closer to home--made it real, and forever changed the perception on the price of freedom. So as a child of war, I wanted to become one of them--the men with the lens, the dashingly-cool bunch of guys that pointed glass at the enemy, those who saw the world by frames per second.

In retrospect, my dream has come true. I've lived that dream—stared fear in the face of danger, saw beauty in darkness, solace and grace, and witnessed the world unfolding in an utterly profound, yet definitive state. I've seen horror through a lens, felt the ground beneath me drown in pools of blood and even held the frigid hands of a dying marine I've never met. In war, I found myself. I found the man in me that I dreamt of as a child. In war, I realized that I am more a man not because of my bravery or how I find lust with light, but because in the midst of chaos, I am able to still see eye to eye with those who stare at my lens. I see life, not headlines. I see fear and pain. I hear prayers.

I have hope. Hope in humanity, in dignity, and in all who are stewards of the bounty around us.

Training For The Unknown

I close my eyes, pretend to sleep. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'll awake soon. But as I lay here, reality kicks in and I'm no longer asleep--instead, I'm laying flat on my stomach, head buried into the ground, arms and legs are spread apart in a most awkward position. My head is completely hooded with a black cloth--and I'm gasping for air as it envelopes my entire face. Darkness never felt so real.

When you're held hostage, there are too many thoughts running through your mind. Too many scenarios unfolding in a theatre of unforgiving plots. It's almost like dying a slow death, wondering when that moment will come.

Loud explosions erupt around me, but I cannot see a thing. I can hear it. I can smell it. But I cannot tell if my fellow photographers are dead or alive. And for a brief moment, under complete darkness, I had to remind myself that I've yet to die--so I continue breathing, gasping for air, looking for light.

***************

As a photographer on foreign assignment, one of the scariest and most deadly scenarios we face is that of which I've described above. Time and time again, foreign journalists and photographers are held hostage for ransom, political gain, or other terrorist related ordeal. It's a nightmare that I hope will never come alive--but lately, it's horror that I've had to face in reality.

Thankfully, it was only a training exercise.

I'm currently in Strasburg, Virginia--deep in the mountains of a remote training ground that caters to photographers and journalists who cover stories in the developing world, conflict zones, and in hostile environments. I've been here since Monday, and so far, I've been killed many times, set off booby traps that desolated my entire team, and even managed to accidentally enter a field littered with landmines.

The training that I'm currently taking is put together by an elite team of seasoned military professionals. My group consisted of 16 people, most of which are photographers and journalists from the BBC, Associated Press, CNN, and Non Governmental Organizations that operate in foreign countries.

So far, as I'm going thru this training, I'm amazed at the amount of information that is flooding my knowledge bank. Things like choosing the safest hotel room, back tracking your way out of a field of landmines, treating shock and trauma victims, finding bullet wounds and shrapnel, dealing with check points and security details--most of which I've faced before, but never with such strategic precision as this. It's knowledge that can one day save a life--or my own. Hopefully, I'll never have to use it.

I'll be here until Friday. Tomorrow, I'll be trained how to dodge incoming bullets, evasive body maneuvering, stop arterial bleeding, and how to bandage shrapnel wounds.

I'll be writing more descriptive in a future post. Stay tuned.

Inspiration

In my office, this picture hangs on my wall. It's an image that I turn to on a daily basis.

In the midst of rising chaos and tension, a little boy calmly awaits his turn. His eyes did not blink. His hand never extended beyond his reach. And like a metaphor out of the pages of our favorite novel, he did not speak a single word--yet his facial expression spoke to me in a language full of hope and pride, dignity and patience. I saw in him the type of person I wanted to become.

Finding meaning and metaphor in images is the job of a photographer. It's one that, no matter how much I practice, is simply never perfected. And for that, I'm grateful.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

The Surreal Life

Words on the side of a house in the mountain jungles of the Dominican Republic.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately--a lot of contemplating about life and the work that I do. Normally, as my readers know me best, I'd be writing more often, but lately, I've been spending my time trying to navigate my way through life, through trepidation, fear, and the unknown.

But as I sit here typing this, there's a sense of sorrow that relinquishes from my heart--escaping through the pores of my soul, separating fact and fiction, rhyme and reason. Feeling the sweat between my fingers evaporate with every keystroke I type, I can't help but feel like I'm venting--transcribing every syllable of my emotions into an essay of potent prose. I really don't know why, but I just feel like typing. I just feel like writing to you, my dear readers. I wish I had felt like this more often as of late.

You know, it's been one week since I've returned from my last assignment in the Dominican Republic and I've yet to even tell you how it went--and for that, I am sorry. My excuse to you is quite pathetic: because as someone who see's the world through a lens, I've yet to accept that I was even there. Sometimes, I'm so lost in motion that it doesn't matter what country I'm in, where I'm going, or who I'm shooting--all that matters is that I'm capturing it the best I can. The task is embedded in my soul, which in the end, makes life feel formidably surreal.

And because of that, I've paid the price. It feels like I'm living a dream. The world to me is a kaleidoscope of moving shapes, appearing and disappearing, never the same. To me, nothing is obvious. For instance, when it rains I don't see puddles of water or feel the rain drops pelting my body, but through my lens, I do notice the way it slices the air, the way it ricochets off the ground and how it collectively bonds to everything it touches. Adjusting my aperture and rack-focusing between foreground and background, I'd bring to life the budding flower that feed off the water. It scares me how I see this, but if I would have taken my eyes away from my viewfinder for just one minute, I might've realized the fact that I'm 3000 feet above sea level, standing on sacred ground, and witnessing what few will ever see. I've missed the feeling of what it's like to be there, to see, to hear, to embellish and lose myself in the environment I'm in. Most times, I'd return home a few days later and never realize where I'd been until weeks or months after I'm back. It makes me wonder what else I've been missing in life. I see so much, yet I miss so many. But please don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming my job or my camera. I blame myself.

A few months ago a good friend of mine told me to "stop and smell the roses." To which I replied, "I do. But just in a different way."

I guess, for me, seeing and experiencing the world takes time. And like a flower flourishing in the midst of thunder and lightning, in time, beauty will prevail. Roses will bloom. The sun will shine. But before you know it, time is no longer on your side. The winds change. The sun sets--and like the tide that recedes when seasons change--we too, must change with it.

The hardest thing for me in life is not finding direction or knowing where I want to be or who I want to become, no--but finding balance--finding an equilibrium between family, career, myself, and the world I walk upon. It's about finding the change I need to make in order to better balance my life. And maybe when I do find that change, I'd see so much more than just what the lens can capture.

Ebay Dreams

It was in the summer of 1996 when I got fired from my very first job. I was thirteen at the time--fresh out of grade school, new to the working world. It was only my second day.

You see, it all started a few weeks earlier when I had spotted a pre-owned SHARP VHS Camcorder sitting on display at our local Goodwill store. I remember standing there--amazed, caught in rapture at the way she gleamed at me, the way she spoke to me in cinematic prose, the way she made my heart thump every time I touched her. And when I looked through her viewfinder, I saw the world unfold before me--an array of images flowed like wax melting from a flickering candle in the wind. An Elton John song played proverbially through my head.

Running my fingers through her buttons, I'd caress her in my arms. At times, I'd lift her thru the air, sit her gently on my shoulder and just listen to her purr to the sound of a VHS tape threading through her internal drums--an orchestrated symphony of gears and mechanical magic making love to the crescendo of my imagination.

Sick, I know. But hey, I was thirteen--going through cinematic puberty. And like all kids, I was willing to do anything to get what I wanted. Anything. So my plan was to get a job--a real job.

With the help of my best friend Ian, I was able to land a job at a nearby tomato farm. At the ripe age of thirteen, I became a tomato picker. Making seventy-five cents for every bushel of tomatoes I'd pick, I was determined to raise the $220 I needed to purchase the love of my life. Nothing could've stopped me--not even the scorching sun that burnt my face or the fuzzy caterpillars that crawled into my pants. Like a true romantic, I tucked a picture of her from a magazine in my empty Superman wallet. When the sun was too hot to bare--I'd stop and pull her out--stare at her and imagined what my wallet would look like with 220 dollars in it. Superman would've been proud.

And then it happened. On the second day of my job, there were no red tomatoes to pick. Little green tomatoes hung rampant on rows and rows of weird looking vines. The farmer had left Ian and I alone for the morning to run some errands, so we had the whole farm to ourselves. Birds chirped sharply in the distance as Ian and I sat there--picking our brain, trying desperately to figure out what to do with all the useless green tomatoes.

Being the baseball fans we were, we decided to kill time by playing a few innings of stick-ball. With a log the size of five baseball bat, Ian stepped to the plate while I pitched. Green tomatoes flew from one end of the field to the other. Slimy neon green seeds rained down on my head as it hovered above me. Spat. Spat. Spat. Home runs all around.

Needless to say, after sixteen innings, the farmer finally came back. My tomato picking days were over. My dreams--shattered like the green tomatoes puréed at the end of the field. Sadly, I never did raise the $220 I needed for that camera. I spent the rest of that summer cutting grass, pulling weeds, and being chased by dogs. In the end, I was $130 short.

To this day I still think of her. I still dream of holding her in my arms, putting her on my shoulder and making movie magic--just the two of us. So here I am, bidding for her on Ebay!

Wish me luck!