For a period of time, I almost stopped using my Nikon FM2.
Since university, it had always been with me.
But after digital photography became more popular — especially when smartphones improved so quickly — I slowly got pulled into that “instant” way of living too.
Take a photo.
See the result right away.
Fix it right away.
Delete it right away.
Share it right away.
Everything became very fast.
So fast that after a while, I noticed something strange:
I could take thousands of photos in one week,
but already forget what I photographed the week before.
There were more images.
But somehow, not more memories.
2014 was a difficult period in my life.
Looking back now, I realize I was living in a long period of sadness and emotional confusion.
My relationship with Pat was also going through a hard time.
And I remember very clearly that after digital photography became common, I almost never touched my FM2 anymore.
Until 2015.
That year, we traveled to Beijing and Canada for three weeks.
In some ways, the reason I picked up my FM2 again was not really because of art.
It was because I needed something to stop my mind from staying trapped in my emotions all the time.
So I brought the camera with me.
During that trip, I shot more than ten rolls of film.
But what really changed me was not the moment I pressed the shutter.
It was the waiting afterward — after I returned to Taiwan and sent the film to be developed.
I had not felt that feeling for a very long time.
Expectation.
Not anxiety.
Not needing to know the result immediately.
Not constantly checking.
Just a quiet kind of waiting.
Before the digital era, waiting used to feel normal.
We understood that some things simply needed time.
But somewhere along the way, waiting slowly became uncomfortable.
Messages need immediate replies.
Photos need immediate results.
Emotions need immediate answers.
Even “feeling” itself has started becoming instant.
And during that time waiting for my film photos, I realized something again:
Some things enter our lives more deeply because they cannot be received immediately.
Film photography has a very special kind of limitation.
One roll only gives you 36 shots.
You cannot keep pressing the shutter endlessly.
And you cannot immediately check what you captured.
So every time you take a photo, you naturally become more focused.
You slow down.
You watch the light.
You feel the air.
You become more aware that you are inside a real moment.
Not just quickly collecting another image.
I am not against digital technology.
I use websites.
I use AI.
I use many modern tools.
So this article is not saying that “the past was better.”
But I slowly realized this:
As the world becomes more instant,
people also become more disconnected from fully experiencing a moment.
We keep more images,
but not always more memories.
Maybe that is why I still continue using my FM2 even now.
Not because of nostalgia.
And not because film is somehow “better.”
But because it reminds me of something important:
Being present is something we need to practice again.
And some feelings only return when we are willing to slow down.
AI can already generate more and more perfect images.
Maybe one day, technology really will go beyond human photography.
But I think I will probably still continue using my FM2.
Maybe in some ways, it is a kind of persistence.
But more than that, it feels like this:
In a world that is becoming faster, more instant, and even generated—
I still want to keep one way of personally experiencing life.


A very interesting read.
You are an inspiration Percy.
Continued SUCCESS !!!
Thank you Don, really glad to hear that this post resonated with you. Your kind words and support truly mean a lot to me.