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This afternoon, I drove in search of the part of New Orleans, which was hit hard by Hurricane Katrina and didn't receive the instant relief like other parts of the city.

People are living there surrounded by houses and businesses that are boarded up, leveled houses, caved in, in the process of being cleaned up and reconstructed.

I forgot to get our digital camera from Mr. F to take some shots. But, you know: There were people there, and I would have felt really awkward taking photos. Maybe that's one reason I never pursued photojournalism, staying safe in the graphics department. It's not always easy to get out and take those devastating photos of other people's despair. I've taken photos after major losses. Sometimes it's no problem. Today, it didn't feel right. I met eye-to-eye with some of those people. I started to cry, but tried to keep it together because I was driving.

Trying to figure out why it's all right to take photos or interview people sometimes, yet not other times. Right after a tragedy happens, there's much chaos. Officials are everywhere; journalists are everywhere. I feel the frenetic energy; the adrenaline rises; I'm on it.

Three and a half years have passed since Katrina hit. There's no adrenaline rush. Just people hoping for recovery. Or maybe some of them have given up.

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