I’ve always considered myself a romantic, and I’ve always had a soft spot for Parisians—perhaps because I speak French, or maybe because I’ve dreamt of moving to France one day. For the longest time, I thought it was the city that captivated me, but I’ve realized it’s actually the people. After three long-distance relationships with Parisians, I’ve come to accept that they didn’t work out. And yet, as I take a step back, I find myself easily moved to tears while photographing weddings—not out of sadness, but because I truly feel happy for the couples in front of my lens.

Some of them are in their mid-20s and have already found their person, while here I am, at 32, still searching. Maybe I’ve let go of the idea that I will ever find “the one” for myself, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling joy for others.

I don’t think I will ever feel pity for myself just because I may never wear a wedding dress or have a wedding of my own. In a way, I’ve already attended so many weddings—except they’re not mine, they belong to my clients. And being invited into their love stories, entrusted with capturing their most cherished moments, is an honor I don’t take lightly. I’ll always work harder for them, because I know just how precious those memories are.

To be a wedding photographer, you have to be emotionally attuned. You have to capture moments that even the newlyweds might not notice—because while they can’t be everywhere at once, you can. You move through the venue, observing the smallest details, the quiet glances, the fleeting emotions, and with a single click, you preserve something beautiful.

I still remember my first wedding photoshoot. I arrived an hour early and met an elderly couple who had been married for 60 years. Curious, I asked the husband what their secret was. He smiled and said, “I still love her to this day.” He must have been at least 80 years old.

I told him that was amazing but admitted that I had just ended a seven-year relationship, and long-term love felt impossible for me. Later, during cocktail hour, he pulled me aside and said, “Young girl, don’t worry. One day, you’ll meet your Mr. Right—and he’ll come with money.” I laughed so hard in that moment, but I also remember crying on my drive home.

A month later, my ex and my dog moved back to California. After ten years in the U.S., it was the first time I truly felt like I had nothing left.

Lately, I’ve started to feel that way again—still alone, still searching. But the difference now is that I have met so many wonderful couples, seen so much love, and captured so many beautiful stories. And most importantly, I have the ability to feel happy for others.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.