I'd forgotten about these

When I was young, I would go to a photo studio near my market to take passport photos. Photo shops then were typically bigger than the counters you see these days, because there would be in the back large pieces of equipment, backdrops and chairs for photo-taking.

All my passport sized head shots were sullen-faced. I don't think I enjoyed being photographed, plus I had the notion you're not supposed to smile as that distorts your face and you won't look like you.

I think it used to be common for such photo labs to display the pictures they had taken in such a way. The arrange-under-glass-tabletop idea is particularly nostalgic.



We were wandering around Little India one very hot afternoon a couple of weeks back when I stopped to take the outside of this shop. The uncle saw me and waved at me to take as many as I can, as they would redevelop the area soon. Anxiously I asked him when, but he just shrugged and told me soon everything there would be gone.

I stepped into the shop to look at some very old cameras and pretty old-looking rolls of film. I was bowled over by the interior, because it felt so familiar even though I'd never been there.

I showed the uncle my blackbird, fly camera as he was interested in it. Having made conversation, I asked if I could take pictures of the inside of the shop (usually I wouldn't dare).

There were two or three customers coming in to take head shots during the time I was there. It was all done very efficiently.





I imagine many Indian nationals coming in here to take portraits to send home. They'd be able to pick out their favourite jacket and tie from the lot here and preen in the mirror for a bit.





Lots of faded packets. I had the urge to go through everything to see what had remained uncollected and wonder why. Think about all the stories in there.

Until I started playing with plastic cameras and film, it had never occurred to me how important photo labs were to many of the foreign workers here. Whenever I prowl around in Cash Converters for old cameras, there would be one or two of them trying to pick out a cheap film camera. I imagine them documenting their outings and life, flipping through their stash of photos affectionately, picking out the happiest ones to send back home.

Remember passing around numbered albums to order photos from?






Many years back I went to a modern-day photo lab to take passport photos. The teenage girl whipped out a digital point-and-shoot. I looked around for the designated photo-taking area. She gestured at me to sit on the high stool right beside the counter and shoved up against the wall - probably the very same one she just had lunch on.

After that I had one other modern-day experience. It was one of those photo lab chains at Raffles Place. At least they had a small designated area with professional lights and camera, even though it was separated from the busy corridor by only a glass wall. The photos were shit and handed to me on a floppy. I was left with the awful feeling that that ugly photo of me would exist forever. Although the truth is that film has lasted longer than floppy disks. I threw it away.

These days I take passport photos in instant booths, because the photos out of there look slightly fuzzy and blurred at the edges, like you're a real person but not quite defined. And because of that, you always look good.

Chasing the light

6am on a Sunday. The rushing air is cold and everything feels a little ghostly. I can't decide if the people jogging and walking silently at that time makes everything more or less eerie.

Photos are not fantastic but I'm glad the hues of sunrise got captured. It's a good motivation to go back with a better camera. That, and the memory of seeing a translucent fiery orange globe ascend.

Also, it's so much faster and easier going to Pasir Ris Beach on a bicycle than on buses.