Almost accidentally, as a part-time language teacher, I started to take photos of naughty or bad behaved students during the classes. However, I suddenly realized what I did was aggressive in many ways when I held my camera and pointed at them. Nevertheless, capturing the naughty or bad behaviors by my camera did not show the so-called “truth.” The photographer, me in this case, who believed the photos could tell facts and show evidences, had nothing but my own absurdity. No deceive moments. Nothing was photographed. There were only happy suspects, their unrecognized faces, resistance, and escape.

Though my eyes observed and looked downward at them, I was observed and depicted by those eyes that looked upward at me in return. I found myself sketched by a child on the back of a study sheet, on which the comic figure was irritated and annoyed. That was me, a childish adult, an angry teacher, and a failed photographer.