While recently on a trip to New York, I decided to walk the Brooklyn Bridge. It was the first time I had seen the city’s skyline from afar – it was an instantly recognisable collection of shapes. Shapes that felt so familiar to me as these were the images produced again and again in television shows and films that I had grown up watching. It was a beautiful day; the combination of the sun, the scene before me, and the sense of freedom one is overcome with when about to embark on solo travels had me feeling absolutely invincible.

I had no idea how breathtaking the views from the bridge would be, I had to take photos. As I pulled out my camera, a fellow tourist (pictured above) posed on the railing and raised his hand in a sign of triumph to his friend, who was also camera laden. There’s nothing I love to do more than pull the discreet card and take photos of unsuspecting subjects, and I was thrilled with how this one turned out. For at this very moment I felt like this unknown man was sharing my exact sentiments; it seemed like we both felt that we were standing on the shoulders of giants, on top of the world without a care to be seen. Then tragedy struck.

I had my eyes down looking at the camera screen, admiring how well this photo had turned out. Time and time again I have been told not to look at photos right away, because by being hung up on the past you might miss something that’s unfolding right in front of you. Well, I did miss something all right. I missed the spandex-clad cyclist who was coming straight towards me at full speed. All I remember is him violently sweeping right up against me, and in doing so knocking my camera out of my hand. I watched in slow motion as it flew across the bridge, before it landed harshly about a meter away from the edge. I scrambled to its rescue and when it was retrieved, I looked up to see the cyclist giving me the thumbs-up from a distance, in a pathetic attempt to make sure I was okay. I initially didn’t think the damage was that bad so I returned the thumbs-up sign and sent him on his way. I still don’t know who is to blame, maybe it was my fault for having my head down or maybe it was his fault for not looking out for any pedestrians that may have been in his path.

The damage was irreparable.

I wasn’t too familiar with New York but in a very immature sulk I walked around the city for what seemed like hours, until I stumbled across a photography store a couple of friends had told me about. I told a few of the employees about the distress that I had just been caused and was very insulted that none of them seemed to care about the death of my beloved camera as much as I did. I walked out with a brand new SLR, which I know should have made me happy, but I couldn’t stop mourning my Canon G11. I don’t usually consider myself overly materialistic, but I do get very attached to my possessions, adding often unnecessary sentiment to each one.

I walked back to my hostel, where I told anyone who would listen about the hardship I had just experienced. I was met with replies of “Oh well, it’s just a camera” and “At least you have a better one now” and “At least you still have the photos on the memory card”. All of these statements were true, and very reflective of the type of people I had met on my travels. All of I sudden I felt so shallow for placing such emotional value in what was essentially just a piece of plastic. But these people were totally right, who cares? I should have been over the moon that my contemplations of taking the SLR leap had been pushed into action by the universe (aka the spandex-clad cyclist). This moment made me really appreciative of the perspectives of those around me who were perhaps more open-minded and positive than me about these things.

This was the last photo my camera ever took; this photo symbolised conquest and freedom one second, and then in a blink of an eye and a cruel twist of irony later it caused my relationship with that camera to come to an abrupt end. I guess I wrote this piece for the purpose of chasing an ambiguous notion of closure more than anything else. But if there is anything you as the reader should be taking away from this, it’s this – always wear a camera strap, no matter how much of a tourist it makes you look like.