It was a normal day.

A normal, damp, rainy day in Melbourne. I was carrying my camera around to take photos of the same old neighborhood that I had lived in for the past five years. There was nothing new, so I struggled to find inspiration for my photography project. Just as I ran out of ideas, a cascading rain started, as if to complement my dampened mood. I quickly ran to the nearby underground walkway to protect myself from the rain. I carefully covered my camera with my jacket, embracing it as if it were a newborn baby. I took a deep breath, inhaling the cold moisture to calm myself and exhaling to release the unwanted toxins inside of me.

Somehow, I was saturated with impatience that day, desperately praying for the rain to stop. I paced around the entrance of the walkway, trying to entertain myself a little. Normally, on a photographing day like this, I would use all my spare time to filter through my chaotic camera roll and pick a few photos out of the hundreds that were just satisfactory. I was not even bothered to open my camera roll that day because I knew there were no decent photos. Again, I took in a long breadth. I shivered as the coldness penetrated every single cell in my body.

Just as I began to exhale, someone said, “Are you okay?”

A child’s voice. Following the voice, a sense of warmth washed over me. Perhaps because the voice was uniquely sweet, distinct from the harsh sound of the raindrops. I was not sure whether the voice was targeted at me, but in the dark, desolate walkway there was only me and this anonymous voice. The child’s voice made me remember the rainy days of my childhood.

My mum and dad used to hold my hands as I jumped in and out of water puddles. As a child, I was not afraid of rain, but rather, I loved it. The rain always transformed the streets into a water park with free entry. It was endless happiness and fun. Those good old days.

A few seconds passed, and I withdrew from my nostalgic thoughts. I turned around, and the anonymous voice turned into a person. A little boy. He wore a bright yellow rain jacket with a complementary yellow umbrella in his hand. He waved, but looked confused as he stared into the dark walkway extending behind me.

“I am alright. Are you looking for someone?” I asked.

He shook his head, “No . . . not really.” Lifting up his umbrella, he passed it to me. I thought he just intended to show me his interesting umbrella, but no, he wanted to give it to me.

“No no, it’s fine . . . I am fine.”

I gently pushed his umbrella back to him. He nodded and then hesitated as if he was trying hard to process my words. Then, without a farewell, he ran from my end of the walkway to the other. His yellow outfit made it look as if he were a firefly flying across the dark cave in front of me.

Without hesitation, I opened my camera. I lowered the exposure of the frame to emphasize the contrast between the bright yellow color and the dark background. Through the lens, I saw the little boy opening his umbrella and bravely walking into the heavy rain as if he were just a part of it. Something inside me clicked. I quickly walked to the other end of the walkway, following the boy’s path. He probably heard my hurried footsteps, so he turned around and smiled.

Click, processed, stored.

The magic of photography is that it can permanently preserve a moment, a person, or an encounter, even though in reality it was just an infinitesimal instant. The photo of the boy in the yellow raincoat became one of my favorite photographs that I always share with others, not only because of its composition and presentation of color, but also because of the lesson I learned from it. Photography is not always about having everything prepared and set up for the moment of capture: it is about living in the moment and being observant of your changing surroundings.

As a passionate photographer, I think this lesson was a very important step in my photography journey, since it propelled me to take a greater variety of photos. While photos are a form of visual communication, they also should act as a way for the photographer to convey their inner world and share the stories behind each image. This is why I think the photo of the boy in the yellow raincoat is one of the best representations of the value of photography. The stark contrast between the yellow and the gloomy background symbolizes the enlightening experience the boy had brought to me amidst the dismal environment.

After this encounter, I began to approach photography differently whenever I went out to take photos. I started to give myself more time to interact with the people I encounter on the way, to connect through casual conversations, and I have learned about the interesting stories of the people who might become the subjects of my photos. It’s the stories of those people that inspire me and bring depth to my photos.

Whenever I head outside now, I bring my camera with me to take photos of the random, yet valuable, things that I observe. This habit has largely broadened the diversity of photos I take, ranging from small plants on the road to people and buildings.

Over time, I have grown to perceive photography as a reflection of my inner world. When my mood or mental state changes, my observations of the surroundings will change and influence what I choose to photograph. Recalling the special moments of my own childhood, I think I would have loved to have a photographer who captured and preserved my daily life as a gift for the older me.