Time Machine to my Childhood

     What is a time machine? For some, it’s science fiction that only in Movie. For me, it’s the scent of film chemicals, the salty air by the sea, or even the sound of coins rattling inside a Kodak film canister I once used as a toy, or the sight of an old albums photograph that suddenly carries me back years in a second.

Small things like these can pull me back to my childhood instantly. Photography has always been that time machine for me, not just in the photos themselves, but in the memories that surround them.

1. Childhood in the Studio

I grew up in a photo studio. My grandfather was one of the first photographers in my city, and my dad carried on the tradition. In the 90s, when film still clicked through cameras and rolls of negatives were part of everyday life, the studio felt like home.

One of my strongest memories is standing at the door of the darkroom. Sometimes it was completely black, sometimes glowing in faint red light. My parents would develop film there, and I would watch in wonder as blank paper slowly transformed into real images. At the time, it did not feel extraordinary, it was simply my normal world. But now, looking back, it feels like magic.

I did not just play with cameras. I also played with the little things that came with film. The Kodak film plastic canisters were everywhere in the studio, and to me they were toys. I would line them up like bowling pins, or put coins inside and shake them like a rattle. Sometimes I used the lids to play traditional games that usually needed bottle caps.

And yes, I even have a photo of myself holding one of my dad’s cameras, too big for my tiny hands, but I was so proud.

2. The Seaside and My First Steps

Not all my childhood memories belong to the studio. Some of the most precious ones live by the sea, where my grandmother lived.

I learned my first steps on the sand near her house, with waves crashing in the background. The salty air and the sharp smell of dried seaweed became tied to those early moments of life. Even now, if I catch that scent, I feel myself pulled back instantly, time collapsing so that I am both adult and child at the same time.

Those seaside summers remind me that memories are not only captured in photographs. Some live in scents, sounds, and places that never really leave you.

3. From Film to Digital

Over time, everything changed. The world shifted from analog to digital, and so did photography. We pursued digital and even started Videography for weddings and events for upcoming few years until I started University during my first year. Our studio did not survive that transition. So does our home. (We lived in a house partly with studio photo) I got sick on my university dormitory while my family move out. I don’t think i can handle the emotions, all the feelings of left your childhood home forEVER. 

My younger sister described me recently that it feels so sad when they left by rental van and see the home almost empty (not that empty, My mom left some of my childhood junk and things) as they car getting far.

My dad still works as a photographer, but now mostly for weddings and events. The studio itself, once filled with film rolls, paper, and chemicals, is gone. That loss felt like the end of an era.

I grew up watching film being developed, but by the time I was older, digital had already taken over. I saw that transition happen with my own eyes, and part of me still misses the slower rhythm of analog. Or less, my childhood.

4. My Own Journey With Photography

Unlike my father and grandfather, I never embraced photography as a profession. I was not confident enough, and for a long time I thought I did not have their talent. For me, photography was never about making money or being the best, it was about collecting pieces of life I did not want to lose.

It was not until college that I really started to love it. Travel opened that door for me.

5. Travel, Culture, and Human Interest

The first time photography truly felt like mine was during my travels. I started taking photos of people and culture, what photographers often call “human interest.”

In Wakatobi, for example, I was mesmerized by the richness of traditions and the warmth of daily life. The faces, the colors, the gestures, all of it felt worth remembering. When I pressed the shutter, I was not trying to be perfect. I was simply trying to hold onto the beauty I had just witnessed.

That was when I understood what photography meant to me, not a job, not an obligation, but a way of remembering.

6. What Photography Means To Me Now

My grandfather used photography to pioneer. My father uses it to provide. And me, I use it to remember.

I may never be a professional photographer, and I may never call myself one. But photography is still part of me, in the quiet way I notice the world, the way I travel through memories, and the way I carry pieces of life inside an image.

Time travel, for me, does not need machines. It lives in the smell of film, the sound of waves, the click of a shutter, and the faces of people who remind me what it means to live.