At a very young age, my grandpa gave me his polaroid.

I was 8, maybe 9. I am so lucky that he trusted me with it, that he allowed me to explore the instant magic of a polaroid camera as a child. I found old film and even bought a few packs at the local drug stores before they stopped carrying them. Looking back, I understand that was a rare experience for people my age. 

I occasionally come across old shots while exploring the boxes and drawers that hold scraps of my childhood. They are gold– a moment captured and made precious.

I didn't put his camera down until sometime in middle school, when the film was discontinued (and instax and the impossible project were not yet created). In college, I started again with my own instant camera, sporadically capturing fractions of my life.

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