The faces of the hordes of people that stampeded past me on the busy streets of Europe have mostly faded away now that my vacation is a distant memory. But my photos and videos will help keep those faces alive forever. Especially when I question myself, "Was that trip only a dream?"
While I was sitting at home looking at my vacation photos, I saw a picture of a woman standing behind my boys in the carousel line. We were just outside of Plaza Mayor in Madrid. Her demeanor caught my eye, and my focus was on her, not these kids of mine. Her body language told me she seemed annoyed. Could it be that she was tired of holding her young son? Maybe she was fed up with the events because it was late in the day, and the sun was setting, making the area seem gray. The shadows crept up along the walls of the Foreign Ministry building. She was more than likely tired, like me and every other parent.
Her black coat was slightly undone. The fur collars flapped out from around her neck. She clutched her son against her hip. He has a slight smile on his face. His right arm slung around his mom. His hair is parted in almost the same direction as his mother's hair. Even though she was staring, it felt like she was participating in my photo. My calls to my boys to look at me summoned her my way, too. And although her face has faded from my memory, her existence speaks to me in my photographs. She will forever be a part of our family because I love the picture and plan on framing it.
As time marches on, specific memories of my trip will have faded away, and other thoughts of my travels will resonate longer with me without the help of a photograph. While I review my camera roll in solitude, I can't help but smile at my kids for being goofy in one picture and annoyed in another. I snapped one of my beautiful wife, who turned quickly so I'd catch the correct angle. My photographs are also of historic sites. But I'm fascinated by the ghostly faces of my past. Much like people I have seen in history books, they, too, are long gone.
The streets in Europe were so clustered with faces that their sheer size gave me pause, and I had to video-record them.
Like extras in a movie, they have all played their role accordingly in the photos that I consider my life. There is the tourist with his camera taking scenery photos and unflattering shots of things that I may not have thought interesting but meant something to him. Or the locals with a glare towards a clueless tourist whom they despise because they are taking up the space the locals used to own. A merchant smiles as they listen to another tourist ramble about their trip and eagerly await their payment. All of this activity is archived on my phone. The trip may be over, and their faces have faded away, but there is an impression on me they can't take away. The faces are locked in my phone or uploaded to my cloud, and they will stay until I want to reminisce about what I saw.
Europe is now a distant memory. My trip of a lifetime will soon be in my personal history books, only to be reopened by one of my children or myself, perhaps, in our quest to remember what it was like across the pond. I hope when it's my boy's turn to reminisce, they take notice of those faces in the background because although they have faded away, a lot of them are the reason that made our trip memorable. I hope somewhere out there, my faded face did the same for someone in that crowd.
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