When the red recording light of the camera turned off and the heavy soundproof studio door closed, a strange sense of liberation swept over me, accompanied by a long, deep sigh. The intense broadcasting field, the cue signs spinning day and night, scripts and video edits being modified endlessly, and above all, the irreconcilable friction with staff whose directions and values differed from mine—I could no longer endure that soul-eating emotional drain. Quitting the broadcast industry was not a simple escape, but a lonely yet inevitable decision to direct the gaze of my remaining life solely onto the world beyond my own lens.

Stepping away from the studio filled with dazzling lights and noise, I began to notice the quiet signals my body had been sending me. Growing older arrives gradually yet unmistakably, much like the image on a viewfinder slowly losing its crisp edges. My eyes no longer locked onto subjects with the sharp precision of the past, and the iron-like heavy photography equipment that I once carried like a part of my own body in my youth had suddenly become an overwhelming burden pressing down on my joints. My stamina, not yet fully recovered, told me to finally put down the old way of carrying tens of kilograms of gear across rugged terrain.

A few days ago, I finally embraced the equipment I had spent so much time longing for, admiring only through shop windows or monitor screens. Dipping into my hard-earned savings and following the pull of my heart, I boldly purchased a brand-new, considerably lighter camera, lens, and accessories—even though they came with a hefty price tag. On the day I made the big payment, a peculiar flutter stirred within me. This small, lightweight equipment is by no means a sign of decline or compromise. It is a precise preparation for the second act of my life, aimed at a new kind of subject. Instead of the bulky gear meant for massive documentary shoots, the light, metallic feel of the equipment now in my hands reawakened the pure joy of photography that I had forgotten.

Yet, sitting alone in an empty room with my eyes closed, the wild times when my heart pounded as if it would burst occasionally rushed back like phantoms. The days when, back when my health permitted, I searched frantically for the world’s remote wilderness and polar extremes. On those harsh, harrowing paths where human footprints barely reached and only birds and field mice left precarious traces, I was truly, fiercely alive. Those passionate, youthful days as a documentary photographer—pressing the shutter with freezing fingers on foot-deep snowfields or precipitous cliffs, capturing the sublime majesty of untamed nature and its rough breathing at the edge of the world—are deeply carved into my bones and flesh like indelible medals. The sheer solitude and ecstasy of waiting for a fleeting ray of light amidst biting storms will never fade.

Still, I cannot let myself be bound solely to the majestic grandeur of the past and miss the beauty of the present. Though I temporarily set aside the path of the rugged explorer carrying a heavy backpack, genuine moments continuously flow right here, close to my everyday surroundings. The drops of sweat in cultural and artistic performance halls where heavy theater curtains rise and fall, the serene quietness of silent exhibitions where people's gazes linger deeply, and the diverse local events brimming with the warmth and vitality of daily life. Even without traveling far down arduous roads, countless artistic moments worthy of pressing the shutter exist right here where I breathe. The photographer's destiny—to chase the light and catch the most beautiful truths within it—remains unchanged, whether in the remote wilderness or on urban stages.

The crisp click of my newly purchased camera's shutter rings out joyfully in my ears. Having shed the physical and psychological weights that once pressed heavily upon my shoulders, I now look at the world with a much more relaxed pair of eyes and mind. If my eyesight has blurred slightly, so be it; instead of a sharp focus, capturing the dreamy bleeding of light and the warm curves of subjects will suffice. Although my footsteps now lead toward nearby performance halls and exhibition spaces rather than steep mountain ranges and polar regions, the documentary within me—striving to record the world through a lens—is far from over. My second world, walking alongside a lighter camera, its brilliant yet serene daily documentary, has just captured its very first wondrous frame.

[ⓒ Global Economic Times. 무단전재-재배포 금지]