Photos and text by Kelvin Ah Kian
As civil servants, my parents relocated many times around Sabah. We eventually settled on the small island of Labuan in 2004, when I was 12 years old. Located between Sabah and Sarawak, Labuan is one of Malaysia’s federal territories, with a population of around 90,000. Growing up, I never thought of the island as my hometown. Only after I left in 2009, to pursue my diploma studies in Selangor, I slowly began to embrace the island as part of my identity. At a certain point during my studies, I came to realise that my family had long regarded the island as their true home. It is meant as a statement from my parents to ensure that my siblings could grow up in a stable environment without the constant change of address.
In 2012, the federal government announced they would build a bridge connecting the island with mainland Sabah. The project was meant to bring better business opportunities for our oil- and gas-based economy1. I realised then that the quiet landscape I was familiar with, was at risk of changing forever. Driven by the urge to preserve the memories of my youth, I started documenting Labuan’s shoreline, which had witnessed the changing fortunes of the island.
From 2014 to 2019, I revisited many places I used to frequent during my teenage years, including our usual cycling routes, hiking trails, and fishing spots. The scenery holds a sentimental value that I wish to preserve before it’s too late.The series was photographed entirely on a 6×6 TLR camera as a method to slow down my process.
A decade later, the promised development has yet to materialise. The scenes on the shoreline remain the same, and life goes on as it always has. The whisper of the promised bridge only resurfaces during election campaigns; after that, the promise is quickly forgotten. Politicians argue that the construction of the bridge is not feasible, because of funding and other bureaucratic factors, but expert studies say otherwise. No clear reasons were given and none of the locals could do anything.
My relationship with the island is similar. As my time is increasingly spent overseas for work, I remind myself to visit my hometown at least once a year. I have to accept that this might become more difficult, as time passes. The photograph becomes an artifact of my memory; as I imagine the shorelines will remain the same, until I return to say my final farewell.
ℹ️ Kelvin Ah Kian is a Sino Kadazan photographer from Malaysia who enjoys documenting the banality of everyday life. Since childhood, Kelvin has relocated to many places. As a result, he developed a profound appreciation of the fleeting life moments, which defined his approach to photography and storytelling. He uses photography to safeguard the memories of the different places he has resided while constantly questioning his identity and practice as a photographer. Since 2012, Kelvin’s work has been showcased in various group exhibitions locally. Recent exhibitions include: BELONG, organized by Exposure+ in 2022, and Bridging the Distance: Making Us Stronger, organized by Fergana Art in 2020. From 2019 to 2021, Kelvin was part of the organizing committee of the Kinabalu Photo Festival, focusing on photobooks and publications. Kelvin completed his Master of Architecture at the University of Malaya in 2021. He currently works at an architecture firm in Singapore.
