“The original is unfaithful to the translation.”
— Jorge Luis Borges
I came across this quote recently, and it stayed with me longer than I expected.
At first, it doesn’t make much sense. We’re taught that the original is the source of truth, and everything after it is just an interpretation.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized we spend our lives translating things.
A photograph translates a moment.
A memory translates an experience.
Writing translates thoughts into words.
Even this post is a translation of something that only existed in my head a few minutes ago.
None of them are perfect.
The moment we try to capture something, it changes. Some details disappear. Others become more important than they originally were. What we’re left with isn’t the moment itself, but our version of it.
I’ve started to think that’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to photography. I used to think a camera was a way to preserve a moment exactly as it happened, but the more photos I take, the less I believe that’s true. Every frame leaves something out. Every choice where I stand, when I press the shutter, what I decide to include changes the story. A photograph isn’t the moment itself. It’s simply one interpretation of it.
Memories feel no different. Years later, I rarely remember every detail of a place or a conversation. What stays with me is usually the feeling. Sometimes I look back at an old photo and realize I’ve been remembering that day differently all along, and somehow both versions feel true.
Maybe moments aren’t meant to stay exactly as they were. Maybe they’re meant to change with us, taking on new meaning every time we revisit them.
