Picture the scene: a group of eight young women have met up on Friday for a get-together. They're a chummy group and always try to include dinner with each other in their hectic, humble first-job schedules. It's going to be a great evening of catching up on each other's lives amid excellent atmosphere and good food. But as pressing as catching up is, something is more urgent: the screaming void in their stomachs.
The food finally touches down on the table and while the first instinct in more primitive ages would be to dig in, that isn't the case today. Not before everyone has a chance to ceremoniously document their food first, no! Not even after all eight cameras/smartphones have clicked can anyone dig in yet, thanks to one friend yelling, "Wait! I want another shot because the lighting in this pic looks awful!" Wouldn't you want to strangle that ninny who just won't give it a rest? I know I would want to. Except I can't, because it's me.
The phenomenon's becoming quite normal now, especially in Asia. Counter-trends have even cropped up, with my favourite one being "Asians taking photos of Asians taking photos of food" thanks to its snide, sarcastic implications. I guess there's nothing wrong with showing the world what's going on in your day, but when it cultivates an unhealthy lifestyle where you become an over-uploading exhibitionist who thinks people really care about what you put in your mouth every 30 minutes, it can't be too good.
It does seem quite strange that an obsession with taking photos _ showing off aside _ is actually a bad habit, doesn't it? Well, it's only yourself you are cheating on.
It didn't seem like a life-threatening situation until this issue cropped up during work. During a food review, the first dish was handed to the photographer. After he was done taking photos of it, I would then taste it and record my comments. The problem was, the dish was dumplings and that could only mean one thing: eat it hot, or don't eat it at all. I was right. By the time I put the dumpling in my mouth, it wasn't exactly divine anymore. Inevitably, this had some bearing on my final impression of the food, whether I liked it or not.
But it didn't sink in then. I felt the wrath of photo taking again while on assignment in Japan. I was on a boat, pulling out my camera every seven minutes to try to capture what was all around me: the sheer brilliance of the surrounding mountains and trees. The problem? While I was busy trying to get a snap of the picturesque orange-tinted line of trees, other people on the boat were squealing at the sight of some bird that just did some really cool aerial stunt.
It was only then that I felt the consequences of this phenomenon. I couldn't help it because it was part of my profession, but there was no doubt that I was also missing out on non-work related moments that I could have fully relished. After that oversight I focused on trying to get all the shots I needed and I put my camera away _ for good. Then I promised myself that I'd enjoy the cool air blowing against my face and take in the gorgeous sights Japan was throwing at me. With my own eyes. I realised then that I was robbing myself of moments that I could never get back. Moments like when Adam Levine does a sexy strut at a concert, when a cute duck does a weird flip during a boat ride in Japan, and of my food actually tasting good because I haven't been too busy taking pictures of it instead of eating it while it is still hot.
It's ironic how we're living through second-hand experiences, but only because we're trying to capture the moment in the first place. Perhaps things like these are not meant to be captured; their nature is for you to live through it and be left with your memory. No matter how professional you are, some sort of effort must be put into trying to get a somewhat decent picture or video. And that is what's stopping you from getting to really feel the gist of what's unfolding at that time. That's when I decided to stop trying to document everything and simply live for a change.
Do you want to live through a picture or do you want to have the best, shining, unscathed, first-hand experience? It is something you can actually choose. No one has a gun to your head threatening you for that picture-perfect shot. So put that camera down and live life to the fullest like you deserve to.
Parisa Pichitmarn is our newest and youngest Life writer.