first day of school (again)

You don't want to be the first to arrive, nor the second. Nervously peering round corridors to ensure this is the right room, anxious enough to not try to initiate conversation. I arrive breathless and excited, become the third.

I look down at the desk, at my hands, rustle in my bag, lay notebook and pen together. Glance outside over False Creek and Granville Island. We sit there in silence, resisting the urge of school the shuffling feet, the rustling of the new arrival taking off her coat, gangs of laughing students passing by. A polite "Is this seat taken?"

I wonder if they are as nervous as me. I want to laugh out loud at the absurdity, but instead smile at the man who has just walked in.
I have often been accused of aloofness, but it is a shyness that keeps my eyes downward. I wonder what their stories are, why they are here.

Walking through the corridors with my prospectus grasped firmly in my hand, I pass students in their jeans and creativity. I feel a fraud, coming straight from work in my black suit and high heels, trying to banish that voice which says "You don't belong here" to the back of my mind where it no longer has value.

But I do. I do belong here, my camera bag rubbing against unopened film and developing reels, my hands on the desk in front of me, wishing the class would start.

And when it does, the silence shifts. Shoulders relax, somehow there is another energy already. We break the ice, introduce ourselves.
And in the break over canteen coffee, the beginnings of friendship start to emerge as nervous small talk gives way to creativity and curiousity.

I start to see in black and white images, devour the inspiration of Diane Arbus and Henri Cartier-Bresson, wish that when she walked past me, I had taken the opportunity to speak to Jane Bown in the Observer offices.

I am here because I want to tell stories, without words. Capture that perfect moment, that image. I am here because I want to be better than what I am right now.

And so here I am again.