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!

Done Playing 007

Lately (well, just today), I've been feeling like a dead beat. You know, like one of those fathers that refuse to pay child support--a loser with a capital "L" plastered on my forehead. Why you ask? It stems from a number of reasons. Here's just a few:

1- I've neglected this blog. (No Internet Access)

2- I've been on a top secret mission that isn't really secretive, but for the sake of national 'secrutiny', I cannot tell a soul.

3- I see more of my camera than my family.

4- I bought a pair of "tights" to keep warm while shooting in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

5- I now have a wedgeeee.

OOOk, now that that's out of the way--I just want to say that I've missed you. Yes, you--the one gawking at the screen reading my alphabetical soup of rambling. After spending the last two weeks on the road filming various projects, I'm now back in my office. But, not for long. I will be here for two days, then I'm off to the Dominican Republic to film a story about Humanitarian missions in that region. And since this isn't a top secret mission--I promise to write while on assignment. I'll fill you in soon.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to catch up on some of my favorite blogs!

Butt Hut

Dear Readers,
I've been on assignment lately in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan working on a top secret project that I cannot comment on. But, rest assured, that life for this lowly photog remains to be weird--wild--and whacky, as illustrated above. And NO, my top secret mission isn't on the Butt Hut.

Traveling thru America's back country is like traveling in a whole new world. Things are different here--way different! It's not your typical American-urban sprawl that you see on television. Instead, the atmosphere here is very Hillbilly'ish!

I'll post some photo's soon.
Have a great weekend everyone!

Ron

Nothing

What is nothing?

According to the Mr. Webster, "Nothing is a concept that describes the absence of anything at all." Grammatically, the word "nothing" is an indefinite pronoun--which means that it refers to something. One might argue that "nothing" is a concept, and since concepts are things, the concept of "nothing" itself is a thing.

Confused? Yeah, so am I.

Anyways, I really don't have anything to write about today--nothing at all. Yet, here I am, marrying words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs--an amalgamation of text with "nothing" of note into something we call a "blog post." Hmmm, too bad it's about "nothing."

I'm currently in Indianapolis, Indiana filming a top secret project that I'm supposed to say "nothing" about. So my lips/keyboard is sealed!

Have a great week everyone!

-Ron

Insights From The Ronigoddess

Sorry, I may have tricked you with the title, but there won't be any insights here today. Neither is there such thing as a Ronigoddess. I made that up (creativity has its powers). Instead, I've been honored with the privilege to be Guest Blogger at Insights From The Demigoddess.

Please direct your browser to this link <--------- that link-- to read about my journey to North Korea and how I single handedly managed to rescue three fellow photogs while running through a gauntlet of land mines and eating only the lint on our socks to survive. Yes. It's true. I'm in talks with Oprah Winfrey and Jerry Springer on a collaboration for my next project.

So what are you waiting for? Click on the link above and read for yourself! The Demigoddess will welcome you with open arms. She's awesomely amazing!

Have a great weekend everyone!

-Ron

"Oh Sh!t" Moments Vol. 2

For those that are new to Ronzworld, you may have missed the first edition of Oh Sh!t Moments--a chronicle of instances when I thought that very frame was going to be my last. Well, I've since washed the stains off my undies and have even burnt a few, so without further adieu, here's volume 2 of Oh Sh!t moments:

Hanging your body from the side of a rick-shaw was never taught in film school. With the wind blowing thru my hair, I felt like a dog with his head poking out the window of my master's car. This moment deserves an "Ohhh Sh!T."

Sitting backwards on a motorcycle, holding a camera in one hand and trying to grab onto the bike with another was also never taught in film school. In fact, I think this was dumber than the time when I drove backwards thru a McDonald's drive thru. This moment made me say "Oh Sh!T, I'm going to die!"

Setting up shop in the middle of rush hour traffic wasn't such a good idea. I was honked at many times. Heck, I think they even swore at me. But oh well, it was a great shot. Never the less, I said "Ohhh Sh!T, I'm going to get hit in the groin."

I know I'm a high roller and all, but never to the tune of 3 million dollars. There was so much cash that I didn't know where to stash it. I felt like a drug dealer. So you know what I did? Well, being the smart-ass that I am, I stuffed it all in my pants! But while walking thru the market, it felt very uncomfortable. It bulged out of my pants and made me look like I had a hemorrhoid the size of Venus. Knowing that I could get jumped any second, this was indeed an "Oh Sh!t moment."

Talk about cheap flights! Man, flying around in that bucket made me appreciate how lucky I am to fly coach. In fact, I was freaked out at how close we were to the engine blades. It was loud! I thought I was going to lose an ear drum...or worse, I'd get sucked into the engine. I prayed aloud and remembered accidentally saying "Oh Sh!t in my prayers." Sorry God.

With my legs dug into the ice, I clung onto my life to get this shot at the 2010 Winter Olympic Nordic Sky Jump venue in Vancouver. If I had slipped, I would've performed a double fly-by axis quadruple speed jump and made it look easy! I said "Oh Sh!t" so loud that I think I might've caused an avalanche that day.

OK, this may not look like an Oh Sh!t moment to you, but to me, it is. Now look at it carefully. My tripod is completely submerged in the water. My camera is no more than a few inches from the splash. Had I made a mistake, my camera would've dropped to the bottom, washed away with the flowing currents and I'd be left with nothing but wet feet and a pink slip! I thought of how I would explain this to Boss Lady when I get back to the office. And the only words that I could hear her say was "Ohhh Sh!t." But dammit, it was a sweet lookin' shot!

Little Peanut

This is Peanut. Yes, that is his real name. He is the son of a Cambodian genocide survivor. And like me, he was at the memorial service last weekend. Holding an incense in his hand, he's off to say his prayer. Bless his little soul.

I had a rough day today, but looking at this picture of little Peanut makes me smile. I hope you will to :)