Seeing the City — and Ourselves — in a New Light

An inner and outer journey through the Festival of Lights — in images and reflections.

Apr 14, 2025

I didn’t plan on thinking this deeply.
I just went to photograph the city lights.
But looking back… something stayed with me.
This is that story.

Confessions of a Seeker

A seeker — that’s who I am. I’m always searching for something. Many things, really. But primarily, I search for my inner light — not the physical kind that reflects off surfaces, but the one that stands for something deeper: clarity, fulfillment, depth, freedom, meaning — and, most importantly, the experience of being alive.

For me, seeking light means finding those moments when I feel most myself.

My light might be a text I write, a book I read, or a conversation that moves me. It can be the comfort of my home — the place where I create. The gaze of someone who truly sees me. A moment of clarity in the middle of inner noise. That creative flow when I’m writing or taking photos. Even time with no plans. All of these are different expressions of the same light.

A Journey to the Center

So when I heard the Festival of Lights was happening in Zagreb, I knew I had to go. Not for the event itself. Not because everyone else was going. But because I had a feeling — that by watching those light projections, I might see the city in a new way. A colorful, creative way — one that points to something that is quietly alive in me, but often remains hidden, or overlooked. And I hoped that this time, it might resurface.

So it wasn’t just a physical journey — it was a symbolic one.
One that had to do with the very center — of the city, and of myself.

I went to downtown Zagreb with my Fujifilm X-H2, a camera I love for its image stabilization and beautiful color reproduction. I paired it with the Sigma 56mm f/1.4 — widely regarded as one of the best third-party primes for Fuji’s X-mount system. It’s compact, sharp, and perfect for soaking up light in the dark.
I shot all the photos in RAW, without editing a single one.
What you see here is exactly how it looked.

Light, Darkness, and Everything Between

The air was crisp and cold.
The city felt calm. People came and went.
I stayed slightly aside, often moving to a rhythm different from the crowd. Quiet. Observing. Trying to catch a moment untouched.

Buildings I had passed by for years were no longer just scenery — they turned into actors and canvases for modern imagination.
The whole thing felt slightly surreal, almost psychedelic — and yet, tender and quietly joyful.
It felt as if someone was playing freely, with a childlike spirit — but also a subtle sense of what the light was trying to say.

As I stood in front of those historic facades, I realized that the experience wouldn’t have been nearly as powerful if the light hadn’t been accompanied by something we usually try to avoid — darkness.

It was the darkness without which none of this would have been possible.
It was the darkness that gave shape to the light, allowing it to shine in its full splendor — and without its presence, the light would have nothing to illuminate.

It was a perfect illustration of their mutual dependence — just like a good chess match relies on two skilled opponents who, while competing, are also there for the very reason they came together in the first place — to play.

It was, above all, a game — a play of vivid shapes, colors, projections of plants, animals, and abstract forms, turning the whole event into a rich audio-visual experience.

Living with the Unexpected

But for me, it became more than just visual.
It became an inner experience — one where opposites don’t fight or cancel each other out, but dance together, leaning on one another.

Watching it all, I realized that when I’m not looking at the world through the lens of control or self-concern, I become drawn to what I fear most — the dark. The unknown. The uncertain. The elusive. But also — the exciting.

Even now, as I write this, these qualities send shivers through my body and bring a smile to my face.
It makes me feel alive — precisely because I don’t know what’s coming.
And when it passes, it disappears into memory — making space for something new. Something fresh again. Something alive.

Reflecting on all of it, I see that the main prize of my life isn’t the fixed outcome I once longed for. The main prize is uncertainty. The pool of all possibilities.

These are possibilities that emerge at the edge — the place where outcomes are not scripted, designed, or micromanaged, but where something more real might happen instead. The edge where new ideas, sensations, and a new version of me begin.

That edge — that’s where this text was born.

The less I plan, the more I participate.
The less I cling, the more I show up.
I’m not here to watch a replay. I want to take part while everything is still alive and unfolding.

Savouring the Feeling of Aliveness

A flavor of aliveness — that’s the key ingredient in the game I want to play. That’s why I choose to leave space for something that may come, although I don’t know what that may be.

That space requires me to say yes to the whole play.
Not just the light. Not just the dark.
Not just the parts I can predict or wish for.

It’s about showing up without knowing. Trusting it. Letting it surprise me.
And when I do that — whatever happens somehow becomes exactly what I need.
And strangely — it even feels like it’s what I wanted all along.
Like it can’t be a miss.

The Boy at the Window

Knowing this, I hope to cease to be the boy I once was — the one staring through the window as magnificent ships sail out to distant seas, dreaming of joining them… but staying behind.

Not because he couldn’t swim. Not because someone said no. But because he wasn’t ready to leave the safety of the coast.

He wished for light. A constant daylight. A world that was steady and safe.

But if it had been day all the time — this show would never have happened.