46: The Shift in Light

46 hit harder than I expected. Not because of age, but because of everything I felt —
and everything I didn’t. The silence inside me was louder than any celebration.
And somehow, that silence became a kind of truth.

I’ve never liked birthdays. Even at 46, they still feel like something I just want to slip past quietly, before they even begin. There’s always that quiet pressure to smile, to celebrate and to feel grateful. But this year, I never felt that way. It was more difficult than it has ever been.

My new car was damaged and waiting at the garage to be picked up.
I felt very tired.
I didn’t want any noise or plans.
I just wanted it to be quiet — The kind that lets you breathe, even when it hurts.

Even so, I received kind messages, thoughtful wishes and people reaching out to me. I was grateful. I really mean it. But inside, I felt empty.
No luck. There is no spark. I feel a deep, quiet stillness in my chest.

As the day ended, I sat in my office. The world outside seemed to slow down, and I stopped feeling empty.
I just let it be.
And at that moment, I felt something change inside me.
I realised that I didn’t want to chase the same things I used to chase.

For years, my photography was all about action —
Movement, energy and emotion all come together in motion.
I wanted to make people happy.
I want to make something that looks perfect and full of life.
But at some point, I lost that feeling.

Now, I don’t want anything to be perfect.
I want to know the truth.

When I scan my analogue film work, it shows emotion.
Every grain, every imperfection — alive.
It’s not about what it shows, but about what it feels.

Digital technology can do a lot, of course.
But Photoshop is always there — ready to fix, to smooth, to make things perfect.
And that’s where it loses me.

Film doesn’t ask for perfection.
It asks for honesty.

For years, I searched for the perfect camera —
the sharpest lens, the newest model —
thinking it would help me express more.
But a camera can’t capture emotion.
Only the person behind it can.

I know I’m not perfect.
I never was.
But I try — to be there for people, to give what I can, to make something that matters.

Sometimes, I try too hard because I feel so much for others.
I want to help them, to take away their pain.
Maybe that’s why days like this hurt so much — because I already feel everything so deeply. In this world full of pressure, where most people search for happiness in things instead of feelings, I’ve realised one simple truth:

The most important thing is to be real.

At the end of the day, I sat with my wife and quietly said,
“I don’t ever want to have another birthday.
Because the pain I felt today is too much for me to hold.”

But even in that pain, there’s still a small light that refuses to go out.

Before, I wanted to make people happy.
Now, I want to make them feel.
To show truth,
to show breath,
to show that even emptiness can hold light.

I still want to bring light into dark places —
but now I know that light is born inside us first.
It opens quietly,
it asks to be felt,
and it teaches us to understand.

Maybe that’s what 46 really is —
to stop pretending,
to stop polishing life until it looks perfect.
Peace comes from simplicity,
and strength comes from being real.
No filters. No fake shit. Just truth.

It’s not about action anymore,
and it’s not about pleasing anyone.
It’s about creating something that’s real —
something you can feel,
something that moves the soul,
and quietly touches the heart.

That’s what I love doing now —
the quiet flame that keeps me alive.

Take it or leave it.

Thank you