The Most Alive I've Felt as a Photographer in a Long Time

There are certain days as a photographer that remind you why you picked up a camera in the first place. Not because everything went according to plan, or because the lighting was perfect, or because you came home with technically flawless images. Those days are great, but they aren't usually the ones that stick with you.

The days you remember are the ones that catch you completely off guard.

That was exactly what happened when I decided to head downtown to photograph Toronto's Portugal Game Day Parade ahead of Portugal's World Cup match against Croatia.

This isn't the type of photography I normally do. I'm far more comfortable creating portraits, slowing moments down, and carefully considering composition before pressing the shutter. Street photography and photojournalism have always fascinated me, but they've never been genres I've seriously explored. So when I loaded a roll of Kodak Portra 160 into my Canon EOS-1N, mounted my little Canon EF 28mm f/2.8, and stepped into the middle of thousands of supporters dressed in red and green, I genuinely had no idea what to expect.

Within minutes, every expectation I had disappeared.

The Moment the Parade Swallowed Me

I don't think I was prepared for just how alive the streets would feel.

There were drums echoing off the buildings, flares filling the air with smoke, flags stretching across entire intersections, and chants that seemed to shake the pavement beneath my feet. Every direction I turned, another story was unfolding. A father lifting his daughter onto his shoulders. Friends embracing complete strangers. Elderly supporters singing songs they'd probably been singing for decades. Teenagers climbing traffic lights just to catch a better view.

It was beautiful, loud, chaotic, and completely unpredictable.

For the first hour, I honestly felt like I couldn't keep up.

I'd spot something happening across the street, begin running toward it, only to have another moment unfold right beside me. People bumped into me constantly. I was squeezed through crowds. Someone shouted as I accidentally stepped into their view. Every few seconds I found myself making split-second decisions about where to stand, what to photograph, and what story was worth chasing next.

There wasn't time to overthink anything.

There was only time to react.

A Tiny Glimpse Into Photojournalism

I'm not going to pretend I suddenly understand what real photojournalists experience. Covering a football parade in Toronto isn't remotely comparable to documenting political conflict, humanitarian crises, or war.

But for a few hours, I caught the smallest glimpse of why documentary photographers become so passionate about what they do.

There was an adrenaline to it that I'd never experienced before.

The feeling that if you looked away for even five seconds, you'd miss the photograph of the day.

The feeling that every corner held another story waiting to unfold.

The feeling that no matter how fast you moved, the world was moving even faster.

It was exhausting.

And somehow, completely addictive.

Forgetting About Perfect Photography

What surprised me most wasn't the crowd.

It was how differently I started thinking about photography.

Normally, my brain is constantly running through a checklist. Is the light right? Is the horizon level? Is the composition balanced? Is my subject posed naturally? Are the technical details where I want them to be?

That internal dialogue disappeared almost immediately.

Instead, I found myself asking completely different questions.

How do I communicate the energy of this crowd?

How do I make someone feel like they're standing here with me?

How do I photograph noise?

Those questions changed everything.

Suddenly I was shooting from waist level. Holding my camera above my head without looking through the viewfinder. Tilting horizons. Letting people walk directly through the foreground. Cropping unexpectedly. Standing uncomfortably close to strangers. Photographing through flags, smoke, and raised arms.

Months ago, I probably would've deleted half of those frames.

On this day, they became some of my favourites.

Film Slowed Me Down Just Enough

There's something beautifully contradictory about photographing chaos on film.

Everything around me was happening faster than I could process it, yet every frame still demanded intention.

Shooting on my Canon EOS-1N with Kodak Portra 160 meant there was no screen to check after every photograph. No reassurance that I'd nailed focus. No temptation to fire off thirty frames hoping one would work.

Once the shutter clicked, the moment was gone.

I simply had to trust my instincts and keep moving.

Ironically, that limitation made me more present. I spent less time evaluating the last photograph and more time paying attention to whatever was unfolding in front of me.

Chasing Feeling Instead of Perfection

Looking back at the finished images, I don't think my favourite photographs are necessarily the cleanest ones.

Some are imperfect.

Some are messy.

Some have strange compositions that I'd normally avoid.

But they feel alive.

When I look at them, I can hear the drums again. I remember people shouting songs at the top of their lungs. I remember the smoke hanging in the afternoon air. I remember being pushed through crowds while trying not to miss whatever was happening ten feet away.

That's what I wanted these photographs to preserve.

Not just what the parade looked like, but what it felt like to stand in the middle of it.

Bringing Everything Together

Once my film was developed, I brought every scan into VSCO Studio Pro to edit the final collection.

The editing process wasn't about transforming the photographs into something they weren't. If anything, it was the opposite. My goal was simply to make every image feel cohesive while preserving the atmosphere I experienced that afternoon. Small adjustments to colour, contrast, and tone were enough. I wanted the emotion of the day to remain front and centre, with the edit quietly supporting the story instead of competing with it.

Why I Needed This

As photographers, it's surprisingly easy to become comfortable.

We discover a style that works, develop a reliable workflow, and slowly settle into routines that produce consistently good work. There's nothing wrong with that—it's part of becoming experienced.

But every once in a while, I think we owe it to ourselves to step into an environment where we're no longer the expert.

Where we're forced to adapt.

Where we're reacting instead of directing.

Where we don't know exactly what's going to happen next.

That afternoon reminded me that growth often hides inside discomfort.

More importantly, it reminded me that photography isn't always about creating beautiful images. Sometimes it's simply about bearing witness to something bigger than yourself and trying to translate that feeling into a single frame.

I came home exhausted, covered in sweat, with sore feet and absolutely no idea whether I'd made any photographs worth sharing.

After getting my scans back, I realized I'd captured something even better than I expected.

Not perfection.

Presence.

And honestly, I can't remember the last time a camera made me feel that alive.

If you'd like to see the complete collection from the Portugal Game Day Parade, you can explore every image over on my VSCO Gallery. Hopefully, you'll feel at least a little bit of the excitement that I felt standing in the middle of it all.