Loss is never lost.

It was a simple task. To help take photos of her. In her buddist robe.

So I obligingly did. In fact, I took a couple of shots. I have always loved photography. The challenge of taking a good photo is to convey your intented emotions to the person viewing your photographs. So I did my best, played around with the lighting until I get the shots I wanted.

Satisfied, I showed her the picture. She looked pleased. While packing my camera, she said to me, "Use this photo you have taken for my funeral." My heart froze. But I managed to utter a casual "orh." And I have never mentioned the whole event to anyone since.

And so.... 1.5 years down, that was how my first public work induced emotions. The big photo frame. The urn. My close relatives' wallets. They carry with them my work of that day. It is a beautiful photo, they still say.

But it is beautiful not because of my technical skills, but, of the bonding and love between us. Love made the portrait beautiful.

I have never dared looked at the photo ever since. It was conveniently forgotten, buried in time. And I know why.

Loss is never lost.