A Distant Memory

Besides being famous for bull racing, Padang, Indonesia, is also rich in human interest. Not far from our hotel, there were countless small fishing villages. The villagers were simple and friendly. To photograph them, all you had to do was smile, point to your camera, and communicate with them. Usually, you would get what you wanted. Interestingly, the Malay accent of the Negeri Sembilan Minangkabau was welcome there. Perhaps the residents felt closer to us when they heard their native tongue. Padang is, after all, the home of the Negeri Sembilan Minangkabau.

I walked around and found a few fishermen resting and drinking coffee in a humble coffee shop. When I went in, I noticed the gentleman in this picture. He looked a little like my late uncle. Immediately, I felt a distinct sense of closeness.

I talked to him for a while and asked for his permission. At first he looked a little uncomfortable, but later he agreed.

He started to pose for me. It was done with good intentions, but it was a little rigid. I smiled and said to him, "Uncle, don't be nervous. Relax, pretend I don't exist, and think about your family."

He nodded and put away his forced smile. A moment later, he was at ease. When he turned his head, I hurriedly pressed the shutter, and for a moment I felt as if I saw my uncle.

“When the lens is turned outward, it is actually focusing on the photographer.”

In the early years, my uncle's business was not very successful, and his prospects were not bright. After he moved to Sabah, his life gradually improved. During those difficult years, he used to come to us and discuss possible solutions with our family. His expression of helplessness, despondency, and indignation left a deep impression on my young heart. I could not understand why my uncle was in such a situation, or why he was so miserable. When I grew up and started my own business, I understood the difficulties of making a living. At that moment, my impression of my uncle changed completely, and my empathy for him grew.

I never expected that photographing in a small fishing village would bring back such a distant memory.

When the lens is turned outward, it is actually focusing on the photographer. I reckon that is the magic of photography.