Title: Fingers on the Grip: What Four Years Behind the Camera Taught Me

Bennie Chang (SFS’26) is a Georgetown Storyteller from San Jose, California, and studies regional & comparative studies, art and international business diplomacy.

I reached for my Nikon camera and grasped grass.

Moments before, I stepped onto the porch and squinted toward the horizon. Two Mendocino cypresses guarded the jagged cliff, and the morning fog shielded the blue water from sight. Around a fireplace overlooking the rugged Northern California coast, dew-covered lawn chairs faced the water. I wiped the condensation, placed my book on the coffee stand and cozied up by the fire in my mountain green jacket. Somewhere in the cabin, my dog snored.

Minutes passed, and the fog parted, revealing miles of rocky shore and evergreen vegetation. Ever since college, my camera found its way into bags, wrapped in beanies for protection. Georgetown gave me the subjects: conversations with the Clintons, slips on the ice skating rink and leaps for Spanish oranges.

I shook off the breeze and reached for my book. Leaning into the pit, I sat in the warmth of the fire and the sunrise’s rays.

***

I sprinted down the aisle of Gaston Hall with my friend Claire. The applause for President Bill Clinton (SFS’68) and Secretary Hillary Clinton thundered as we pressed our way to the stage. Like concert fans, we elbowed to the front of the wild crowd. Handshake. It is such an honor… 0.5x selfie, all before the next fan found their opening.

Meeting the Clintons was a bucket list item. To be honest, though, I wanted the photos more. I pointed my lens at the secretary, leaning in for a clear line of view. “Move back!” the Secret Service agent demanded, body blocking me. But it was too late — click, click. I got the shot.

I couldn’t hear myself as Claire and I pushed out of the crowd. As I edited the images in my first-year dorm, Harbin Hall, my ears drummed, my mind raced. Batteries ran dry. I couldn’t let go of the images, so rather than resist, I leaned in. That afternoon, the dusk dissolved into moonlight.

***

My roommate took one step and slipped. His skates cut into the ice, and his eyes popped like a shocked child’s. In desperation, he grabbed onto me, hoping to drag me down with him.

Usually, I would get a good laugh from embarrassing falls. However, with a camera in hand that sophomore evening, all I could think about was my camera’s safety.

I cannot quite find the mental archive of the scene. Perhaps I counterbalanced my roommate’s downward momentum and saved us both. Or perhaps I wrung myself from his grasp, encouraging him to fall to his demise. Either way, I saved my camera — my precious. I was furious at him for weeks.

For the rest of the evening, I skated rigidly, protectively. The cold bit through my jacket every time I stopped moving. My friends sprinted across the rink as I watched on the sideline. Others’ laughs echoed off the warm lantern lights while my eyes darted across my surroundings. While I protected my camera, I missed what I had come for: the lightness of double toe loops, the shaky backward wiggle and the inevitable gasp from a crash. Perhaps the best memories are left undocumented.

I kicked off my skates and sighed. No camera next time.

***

At an ice cream shop by a glowing, mist-covered cathedral, I pulled out an orange to ask the clerk, “Is this edible?”

Throughout Seville, orange trees dot the sidewalks. Towering above us, these manicured giants color the city with an impossible orange. At night, the ripe fruit carried a sweetness that mixed with the cathedral’s damp stone, a smell I kept reaching for and couldn’t name. My study abroad friends and I spent the evening leaping for oranges. Backpedaling a few feet, we juniors would sprint and fly as high as we could. We closed the night with a handful of prizes.

“You should not eat the oranges as they are polluted.” I frowned, craving vitamin C. What to do with the oranges now? We settled on the trash can. As we returned to our Airbnb past midnight, I scrolled through the live iPhone photos of orange picking. They were fine (some could even say good). Still, I knew my camera would have captured it better. I reached for my Nikon camera and thought I grasped grass.

I stepped onto the patio and looked out into the cityscape. Specks of orange reflected the warm glow of misty street lamps. Somewhere below, an orange waited its turn. This time, only the peels will be left.

***

As I ironed my convocation gown for graduation photos, I was back as a freshman, ironing. The steam carried me back to Harbin Hall and laughter on the Leavey Esplanade.

I had put off ironing until the last minute, again. The creases in the gown and dress shirt were crisp, so I upped the notch, steam ballooning. Perfect. With gown in hand, I swung the camera bag across my shoulder and closed the front door.

Dhruv and Shamitha demanded I dress up. I was their photographer, but Dhruv wanted to practice on me. The car doors locked, the seat belts clicked. First stop: sunrise at the Lincoln Memorial.

In an elegant slip dress and crisp white shirt, Shamitha and Dhruv scaled Lincoln’s marble steps, grinning at each other. The shutter raced, documenting the light in their eyes. The moment felt as precious as the Clinton close-up. I kept shooting.

As the sun climbed, we journeyed north to the Bishop’s Garden at the National Cathedral. The morning breeze rustled the spring leaves, and I tightened my grip on the camera.

“Let me take a few of you,” Dhruv said, reaching for the lens. I hesitated, fingers still on the grip.

I almost told him to correct the angle. I didn’t. I followed him through Gothic arches, posing beside flowering beds and under the shadows of spires. As I smiled, my shoulders began to relax, and my arms rested by my side. He stepped forward to take the shot.

“Let me take a few more for you,” Dhruv said. He darted back and forth, brow furrowed, centering me in the arch. For four years, I thought I was chasing the right shot. However, I was chasing the feeling of being wholly consumed, transported into flow. For a moment, I just watched. I could taste the orange I had never had. I could smell the Mendocino fog.

I let go of the grip and reached for grass.