I've said this before and I'll say it again: My least favorite thing about living in the future (I swear my mind is still in 2008 sometimes) is the lack of one-hour photo processing services. So much for a culture primarily built on instant gratification. Most shops, if they even have this service anymore, take anywhere from 2-3 days to weeks to process film.
Because of this unfortunate generational loss and technological devolution, I've had some trouble sticking to my analog photography hobby. That, and it's pretty expensive, and even 35mm film has become quite scarce. (I miss you, seventy-five-peso Photoline rolls!) Spools I've used up stay on my shelf for years, which means that by the time I get to see the images they hold, I've lost specific recollections of when or where they're from, which moments they're of.
Of course, me being me, I delight in this anyway, because I love figuring out what's changed in me and my life over the years and being emo about it. It's like a personal excavation, seeing photos I took when I was someone else. Discovery after discovery after discovery. Places I can no longer visit, places I don't recognize at all. Sometimes the film has been stored for so long the pictures have faded and I never get to see them. Other times I would worry that maybe the subjects and the events in the shots wouldn't matter to me anymore or would make me feel nothing.
But mostly, I'm just so in awe and ecstatic to finally have a look at what I've wondered about for so long. I guess first times tend to have that effect.
For the longest time I've thought that my Diana Mini was broken. I took it out the other day and found that, well, it wasn't. It was perfectly fine. I was so relieved I went out and bought fresh film the next day. When I was bringing the camera out, I also found four film rolls that, I suppose in the back of my mind, I figured I'd never get around to getting processed anymore. But, again, inspired by my discovery, I decided to go out of my way and finally relieve them of their (and my) misery.
The only place still widely known to process film within the day (two hours) in Metro Manila is Fujifilm in Megamall, which, if locations could be friends, is more like an acquaintance to me than anything. Despite having two MRT stops near it, it still manages to be quite the chore to get to. Or maybe that's just me and it's because I grew up around Shang instead, what with my mom managing a showroom there back in the day.
Anyway. I went there and did it. And I'm making it a point from now on to really make time and exert effort in getting my pictures processed as soon as possible, as well as to bring my cameras with me everywhere more often, again.
Some info about the pics on this post: The first roll was a Kodak UltraMax 400, something I could never afford on my own, given to me by my late friend Reggie on the last day of school before my sixteenth birthday. The photos turned out to be from another friend's birthday at a Shakey's five years ago—something, as predicted, that mattered much less to me now. I felt nice warm feelings anyway. The second roll seems to have been from a trip to Bulacan—NLEX skies and churches and gorgeous mid-century provincial homes—while the third includes pictures taken in UP in my freshman year, before it all went to shit. (Just kidding.)
Here they are now, stuck in limbo no longer.
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