Taking photos with old vintage film camera for the first time felt like stepping into another era, a world slower, quieter, more deliberate. It was frustrating, yes, but also strangely illuminating.

The mechanics of my used film camera Minolta caught me off guard. On my digital camera, the focus dances wherever I wish, quick and effortless. But with film, it stayed fixed. Such a small difference, yet it changed everything: how I framed, how I moved, how I saw. I had to think twice, maybe three times, before pressing the shutter. Suddenly, each photograph felt less like an impulse and more like a decision.

And then came the real test: thirty-six exposures. Just thirty-six. Digital spoils us with endless clicking: trial and error, rapid-fire bursts, the safety of delete buttons. Film does the opposite. It asks for restraint. Every shot mattered. Holding my old film camera I found myself pacing, circling, watching the light shift across a face, a street, a wall, and asking: is this really worth one of my frames? Many times, the answer was no. And strangely, saying no felt like a kind of freedom.