Stories of Me in Sunset Shots

A paint has stroked over the ocean, and the feeling of relief comes after. Orange, yellow, and sometimes purple make the end of our day more meaningful and vibrant. The birds are flying to their homes, and the world is as gold as our dreams. In a rare lovely afternoon, a phenomenon captures our attention that lights our hearts in many possible ways—a sunset.

While most of us photograph a lot of things that we are scared to lose, I am on the side of capturing things that say a temporary goodbye—like the sunset that rests our soul before the evening. Wherever I go, when the air sits still and the clouds form a color yellow as if it's then a morning, I always stop by on spots that leave me witnessing sunsets that are made entirely different each day that passes.

There are sunsets that are happy and sunsets that are sad. Sunsets that occur only when you feel resentful, and sunsets that are painted for those who are grieving. There are also ones that bid farewell to those who have been long gone, and ones that witnessed our first hello to the person we love until now. It is strange that this phenomenon speaks for us in many ways, but amidst the strangeness, a feeling of being seen and valued vibrates the most.

What I love about sunsets is not only their beautiful goodbyes but also the way they keep memories we don’t want to forget but could be. It has been a friend, a therapy, and a diary for me. When I graduated from high school and danced with the first girl I loved during those years, there was a sunset searching for us in the swaying crowd—a purple-pink one. When I met my friend on a beach in our town after three years of hiatus, there was a sunset behind him that made him look like a painting. After long, tiring days of being a photographer, there are sunsets paving the way for me as I board the bus on the way home. When my dog died, a beautiful sunset also bid farewell to him. And when I was searching for something meaningful in the past two years, I found many with sunsets.

Carved in the skies full of orange hues are those years of growth and finding ourselves. The sky has known a lot of us, that it could tell what happened before our becoming. The way it looks upon us and those who are in need of being heard is the look of love we didn’t know, caressing our emotions as if it is a face, gently wiping away whatever those things are that make you sad. It is a beautiful creation that may look common but holds something deeper for those who see it differently—occurring in a trumpet’s blow as if it is a serenade, and saying the words of goodbye like our mother’s promises that are truly promising.

Yesterday, as I rode on the bus and found my way back home, I saw this sunset—wide and wild. It was the middle of July when I found out that I am now an adult. And those years it has seen me are no longer me, but it’s still there, and it has kept it. When I tried to look more closely at the sky, I knew then that it wants me to go forward.

So if you stumble upon another sunset again, listen to what it says and gently put it on your face. Tell me what it says and let the world know how it helped you.

You, what are your memories with sunsets?