GILGIT-BALTISTAN, Pakistan
Only a few days earlier I had been about one hundred kilometers north of Gilgit. It was late August, perhaps early September. The air was clear, the light sharp, and the mountains around the Hunza Valley felt impossibly vast. More than their beauty, it was their presence that stayed with me—ancient, permanent, and indifferent to time.
I stood there for hours, simply looking. The longer I stayed, the smaller I felt. Places like Karimabad remind you how brief our own concerns are, and how vast the world truly is.
During the polo games, the atmosphere constantly shifted between chaos and
concentration. Crowds pressed closer, horses moved unpredictably and moments appeared and disappeared within seconds.
For the first time, I stopped trying to fully control what I was photographing and instead learned to move with the energy around me.
Over time, my focus shifted from perfection to presence, timing, and observation, teaching me to foresee moments rather than pursue them.