
Being a photojournalist is a blessing and a curse. It takes me to unimaginable places, letting me witness historic moments from ground zero. But behind the lens lies a hidden cost. Documenting wars and tragedies has left me emotionally scarred and with an unspoken burden of death and destruction. The signs are clear: I am standing at the threshold of post-traumatic stress disorder. The trauma of constant exposure to human suffering has started to reshape my view of the world, reminding me that sometimes the price of capturing history is more than we bargain for.
Once always on the move, whether for work or adventure, I withdrew into myself after the Covid-19 lockdown in 2020. The world outside was overwhelming. Movies, once my escape, now felt too violent. Books collected dust, and even the thought of a broken world order drained my spirit. I feared venturing out, even making new friends. Except for work, my world had shrunk, and I was too scared to expand it.
I sought solace in brewing speciality coffee, experimenting with everything from pour-over to syphon. I soon realised coffee culture had evolved beyond brewing my own coffee. Now, it is about global connections to source beans of different character, small-batch roasters and the artistry behind every bean character. Yet, despite the craft and science, brewing coffee had started to feel like a mundane task.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der December 29, 2024-Ausgabe von THE WEEK India.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der December 29, 2024-Ausgabe von THE WEEK India.
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