Did you just take my picture!?

If the world knew what I was trying to achieve, maybe they’d be more accepting.

It’s a line I’ve heard more times than I can count: “Hey, did you just take my picture?” Sometimes it’s said with curiosity, but more often, it’s sharpened by suspicion or even hostility. And each time, I’m caught in that awkward space between defending my intent and trying not to escalate a misunderstanding.

What many people don’t see — can’t see — is the why behind my photography. To them, I’m just another person with a camera, possibly invading their space or stealing something as personal as an image of themselves. But the truth is, I’m not hunting for scandal, cheap shots, or to exploit anyone’s likeness. I’m chasing something far more human: a sense of connection, culture, and meaning.

Photography, for me, is storytelling. It’s an attempt to preserve something fleeting — the subtle poetry of everyday life, the quiet dignity of a moment that might otherwise go unnoticed. I’m often drawn to scenes that speak to a deeper history or emotion: the way light falls on a chapel window, the rhythm of people moving through a marketplace, the solitary figure staring out to sea. These images build a narrative about us — how we live, relate, endure, and change.

Yet in today’s world, where surveillance is rampant and privacy feels fragile, I understand the suspicion. People are rightly protective of how they’re seen and who’s doing the seeing. But that’s why I wish I could take a moment, in every one of those interactions, to explain that I’m not just taking pictures — I’m making a record, one that respects place, time, and the people who pass through it.

If the world knew what I was trying to achieve — really knew — I think they’d see my work differently. They might notice how much care I take in framing, how rarely I crop or manipulate, how I wait for moments of dignity rather than spectacle. They might see that I’m not just pointing a lens at someone; I’m pointing it at the stories we forget to tell.

Sometimes I think the camera creates a barrier — but only because people don’t yet understand the bridge I’m trying to build with it. I don’t want to take something from people. I want to share something of them — their light, their context, their place in a bigger picture.

So the next time someone says, “Hey, did you just take my picture?” I hope I have the courage and calm to say, “Yes — and here’s why.” Not to justify, but to invite. To open a conversation about what photography can mean when it’s done with care and integrity.

Because if we’re ever going to see each other more clearly, maybe we need to trust each other enough to look.