Besides being famous for its bull racing, subject-wise, Padang, Indonesia is also rich in human interests. Not far from our hotel, there are countless small fishing villages. The villagers are simple and friendly, to photograph them; all you have to do is just smile, point to your camera and communicate with them; you will usually get what you want. Interestingly enough, the Malay accent of Negeri Sembilan Minangkabau is welcome here; perhaps the residents feel closer to them when they hear 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 walked in, I noticed this gentleman in the picture, who looked a bit like my late uncle. Immediately, I felt there was a distinct feeling of closeness.

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

He started to pose for me; it was done with good intentions, but a bit 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 forceful smile. A moment later, he was at ease, and when he turned his head, I hurriedly pressed the shutter, and for a moment I felt like I saw my uncle.

In the early years, my uncle’s business was not very successful and his livelihood was not bright. After he moved to Sabah, his life gradually became better. In his early years, when he faced adversity, he used to come to us, to discuss countermeasures with our family. His expression of helplessness, despondency and indignation left a profound imprint on my young heart. I could not comprehend why my uncle was in such a situation and how he was so miserable. When I grew up, I understood the difficulties of making a living after starting my own business. At that moment, the impression of my uncle changed completely, and the empathy for him grew.

Never did I expect, shooting in a small fishing village brought back a distant memory.

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