Walmart Smackdown

Blogger update: I'm currently on foreign assignment in Argentina with good friend and photog Dan Denardo.  We stopped at a local Walmart in the small port city of Bahia Blanca to pick up some essentials.  Dan captured this photo of me in the parking lot and told me to "stay out of trouble."  It reminded me of an incident I had at Walmart three years ago.  Below is a repost of that day.

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August 16, 2009

If readers of this blog ever get the notion that sometimes I'm one tough SOB, then they should consider themselves perceptive. Heck, maybe even take it up a notch and go for 'psychic!'

Yeah, that's right, I'm tough!  I'm just one lean-mean photog machine--out to save the world from the brink of destruction, one frame at a time. I've seen the best of man, the worse of man, the richest and the poorest, the sane and insane.

Speaking of 'insane,' today I met a man that defined every annotation of the word: INSANE!

Walking through Walmart, I cruised aisle by aisle, looking for adventure, deodorant and Powerbars. Pushing my cart, I turned every corner with ease, gliding ever so smoothly from hardware to pharmacy, electronics to canned goods. With elegance and grace, I maneuvered my cart through the gauntlet of Saturday morning shoppers, weaving through crowds of screaming kids and grumpy old men. The air was cool. The smell was fresh.

As a bachelor, I take pride in my shopping abilities. I value my time behind the wheel of a well-oiled shopping cart--because being single and shopping on a Saturday morning is like cruising in your woman-mobile down the strip with 'I'm too sexy' bumpin' in the background. Chicks dig a guy with a shopping cart full of protein bars and Old-Spice, beef jerky and AA batteries!  It's 2009, ya know.

So there I was, deep in the midst of going through the camping aisle, backed turned away from my cart, eyes glued on sleeping bags and over-priced tents. I felt a whisk of air brush the back of my neck--the kind you get when a thief runs off with your (man) purse.  So I turned around to look and it was gone--whisked away from me within the blink of any eye, a synapse of a moment. My shopping cart was no where to be seen!

I looked left, then right , up and down--but to no avail. My whole life flashed before my eyes. I saw sunrises in Indonesia, begging kids in India, amputated limbs in Cambodia, soldiers in Afghanistan. I saw night for day and day for night, felt the air freeze before me and time just stood still. Pinching myself awake made no difference, my body shook, shocked in awe and 'struck'n'stoned.'

Finally, after a lifetime (5 minutes) of searching, in the corner of my eye I spotted a cart full of Old-Spice. I ran to it--and in the midst of chaos, I was able to confirm that it was indeed MY CART. I confronted the man and told him that he'd made a big mistake. He looked at me like I was an alien from Mars. He shook his head and kept walking with my cart. I followed in hot pursuit. In my head I wanted to call the cops, the FBI or even Jack Bauer for back-up. I wasn't gonna let this guy off easy.

"All agents, please be on the look-out for a senior citizen, Caucasian male, 5'6", wearing a red checkered shirt with brown pants and smells Bengay and Preparation H."

I confronted him again, this time standing in front of my cart. Like Tina Turner singing 'Stop In The Name of Love,' I put my hand out, had him to a halt and looked deep in his eyes. He gazed back at me with eyes glistening from a high I'd never seen before--maybe recovering from an overdose of his Viagra. Whatever it was, this dood was INSANE to the MEMBRANE!

"Boy, you wanna' take this outside and settle it like real men do?" he asked.

Shocked, I replied, "No sir, I just want the contents from this cart. It's mine. I've spent the last hour picking everything out and I'd appreciate it if you took your cart back and give me mine."

"Get out of my way, China-Man!" he shouted. 

Oh no he didn't!

Was I really going to get into a fight with an 80 year old geezer--at WALMART of all places?
Was this going to end with someone in hand-cuffs and another in an ambulance?
Does this guy really want to fight me? I'm a quarter of his age, lean, mean, photog machine!

At that point, I didn't know what else to say to the man. I was sad. I had lost all hope in humanity. I no longer saw the light in an evangelical way--but instead, I saw myself wanting to show him the lights of my right fist! I felt as if the devil had taken me over.

But slowly, I just turned around, walked away and never looked back. I had settled for defeat. And like Hiroshima, I felt the baron landscape of my heart sink deep into the depths of the abyss, never again to be spoken of.

With an empty shopping cart, I ventured out again, aisle by aisle. 'Quit Playin Games With My Heart' by Backstreet Boys played softly in my proverbial juke box.

Fear Thru A Lens

Photo: Covering a feature story on Tsunami releif in Indonesia.

When you view life through a camera, your world changes. It twists and turns in a way that can never be mapped, never defined nor labeled. The camera becomes you, and you become it--a marriage of mind and glass, a symphony of light and magic.

As a photographer, I see the world in frames, in shadows and reflections. Sometimes, the images I capture within the moment I'm in gets engraved in my peripheral mind, plays back in slow motion replays and haunt me in my sleep. I get this when I cover wars, tragedy and despair.

I started packing today for an assignment that brings me to the precipice of war--a destination that sees life not for its beauty, but for its ability (or inability) to withstand the wrath of bullets, mortars and bombs. It's a world I'd hate to live in. A world you and I can only imagine.

But as I prepared my camera, checked its glass and wiped it clean, I saw in it a reflection of myself--a mirrored image of my life staring back at me. And as I sat there, I looked into my own eyes, saw fear in it, and heard my heart beating ever so loudly.

I'm scared--but it's a different kind of fear.

I fear not for the bullets that go astray or the mortars that ricochet off mountain walls of this forbidden land, but more so, for the people I will see, the faces I capture and the cries I'll hear. I fear for the children I will meet, the way they run to me, the way they hug me and befriend me. I fear for them because I know that they have no other choice but to be there, to live life amidst terror and tyranny. I fear for them--because I know that once I return home, its their beautiful faces that I'll remember, it's their laughter and smiles that I will cherish. I fear for them, because sometimes, when I lay myself to sleep, I constantly wonder if they're still alive.

Sometimes, when you live life through a camera, you see things in a twisted and demented way. I hope what I'm writing tonight makes sense to you. I'm not sure if even I can understand myself...

Four days to departure.

The Boy

Photo: A little boy stares at my camera. Samoa, 2009.

There was a time in my life when all things were fundamental, raw and rugged, yet rich in culture and succulent in flavor. I didn't have a care in the world. I was young. Guided by faith, nurtured by hope.

In school, I'd have nothing but a pencil in my pocket, a few sheets of folded scrap paper for notes and maybe a dollar or two for lunch. I'd sit in class, pay close attention to my teachers as they spoke in length about molecular theories and molar mass, square roots and integers. It meant nothing to me--and to this day, I still can't understand why I sat there so patiently, so intrigued, so amazed at how much information I couldn't understand. When the bell rang, I awoke from the spell--stood up and walked away feeling like I had just paid for a B-rated movie.

I did a lot of soul searching when I was younger. Walking home, I'd take the long way, find new streets I had never crossed, new fields I had never seen. I'd make friends with crossing guards, shake hands with kids I'd never meet again and maybe pet a dog or two. The world was a lot safer then. It allowed me to dream, to lose myself in thought, to see the world in a way I'll never see again.

There was a time in my life when my evenings consisted of having dinner with my family, watching the nightly news with my father and helping my mom prepare for tomorrows meal. She loved to cook. And as we enjoyed each others company, we'd talk about life, about the good old days when they were young--how they never had television, never had silverware or had to eat left-overs for days upon end. I'd listen carefully. Took notes in my mental psyche and realized just how lucky I was to be their child.

At night, I'd lay awake for hours before falling asleep. Listening to my parents chatter in the living room, I'd hear them talk about their fears, their hopes and their dreams. Sometimes, they spoke of me. They'd question each other about my future, what I wanted to become and how I was going to get there. I'm sure it's natural for parents to worry.

I worried, too.

And to this day I still worry. I still ponder about my future. Sometimes, I lose myself in fear, walk the fine-line between fact and fiction--as I try to define what's real and what is not. All I know is that I want to make my parents proud one day. I want to let them know that the sacrifices they made in raising me had a purpose.

But in retrospect, I am still the little boy with nothing but a pencil and scraps of paper in his pocket. I'm still the boy that takes the long way home--the boy that finds friendship in strangers--the boy looking for new destinations.

I'm still the boy that worries about what will become of him when he's all grown up.

I'm still the boy...

All Smiles

Photo: A little girl in Accra, Ghana 2008.

Dear readers,
I apologize for the lack of posts as of late. Since I've been back in the office, I've been playing catch-up on many things--and at the same time, I'm planning for my next assignment. In the meantime, I hope this message finds you well.

Keep smilin' because the world is beautiful...and so are you!

Take care,
Ron

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.