The first book I ever read about photography was by John Garrett—a small yet weighty volume I picked up from my company’s campus bookstore. That book introduced me to the idea of street photography, a term I had unknowingly lived all my life but had never thought to document consciously.

While acclaimed photographers like Henri Cartier‑Bresson and Vivian Maier fueled my early inspiration, I’ve always tried to carve out my own niche—a carefree, raw narrative of the streets where humanity thrives in its most unguarded form. The imperfect, split‑second moments I chase are rarely composed, never curated, and often devoid of any grand meaning or prophecy. They are simply fragments of life—fleeting, unpolished, honest.

These are moments that came and went, leaving little impact at the time, yet becoming things to ponder years later as memories fade, cultures shift, and regimes change. Through my lens, I try to hold on to those fragile instants before they dissolve into history.