INSIDE the quiet confines of the Leica Store in Avenue K, Kuala Lumpur, the noise and bustle of the outside world seem to melt away. Beyond the glass doors, the mall pulses with energy — shoppers moving in every direction like harried ants, unaware of the artistry unfolding just a few steps away.
But within this space, something much more intimate is happening: a collection of photographs that do more than capture moments; they tell the story of a son rediscovering his passion for photography after loss.
Yuji Haikal, whose striking monochrome images adorn the walls, stands proudly before each piece, speaking with quiet intensity to me as he shares the stories that breathe life into them. His enthusiasm is infectious as he points to each piece, explaining the story behind them.
One of the first photographs I notice is of a concert — Zainal Abidin's 2024 edu-concert, he shares. It's raw, gritty, and full of energy. "This one," elaborates Yuji, "was taken just this year. But my first big concert photo was of OAG in concert back in 2022."
This talented photographer has always been drawn to music and street photography. "I love capturing the rawness of live performances, the emotion in the crowd, the moments people miss when they're caught up in the noise," he says, simply.
The images that line the rest of the wall are striking — each one a moment frozen in time, yet brimming with life. In one, the reflection of a street vendor cooking mirrors a couple sitting at a table, sharing a meal. In another, a pretty Russian girl who reminds me a lot of actress Meg Ryan (during the height of her popularity in the rom-com era) appears trapped in the reflection of a mirror, a metaphor for isolation and longing.
As I move from one photograph to the next, I begin to understand that Yuji's work is more than just photography; it's a brushstroke of memory, an intimate exploration of life, of fleeting moments, and of the stories that often go untold.
It's also a reflection of his return to photography — one that had been sparked by a question his late father asked him just before his passing back in 2020: "Why aren't you taking photos anymore?" It's this question, loaded with both love and concern, that became the thread running through Yuji's award-winning photobook, Why Aren't You Taking Photos Anymore? A deeply personal work, it has garnered him the prestigious Best Photobook Award at the upcoming International Photography Awards (IPA) 2024 and Foto Fiesta in Athens, Greece.
As he prepares to head abroad to accept the award, the soft-spoken Johorian reflects on how the death of his father, Syed Mahbar Syed Abu Bakar, not only reignited his creative flame, but also reshaped his understanding of what it means to capture life through a lens.
REKINDLING A LEGACY
Yuji started dabbling in photography years ago, long before his solo exhibition or the recognition that would soon come. He'd been immersed in the world of event and concert photography since 2007 and has had the privilege of capturing local bands like Butterfingers, Laila's Lounge, Komplot and more, as well as participating in significant events like Rock the World, Urbanscapes Festival and Nusa Fest.
His first camera was a gift from his father, a station master for Keretapi Tanah Melayu back in Johor. "My dad bought me my camera in 2007 with his pension money," confides Yuji, eyes shining.
His journey with photography, he shares, has always been a deeply personal one — shaped not by formal education, but by a passion that sparked early in his life. While his academic background is in Information Technology, photography has always been the medium through which he connects with the world. His interest in the art form began in middle school, where he was the president of the photography club.
But it was a family influence that truly ignited his passion.
Growing up, Yuji's father was the keeper of family memories, filling albums with snapshots from their life. The patriarch owned an old point-and-shoot Olympus film camera, and though he took many photos in the past, he eventually stopped. It was a small, poignant shift, one that marked the end of his father's interest in photography — something that would leave a lasting impression on his youngest son.
When Yuji joined the photography club in middle school, he was eager to document his family and friends, but his enthusiasm was short-lived. A move to a new school without a photography club led him to put down the camera for years.
It wasn't until he entered university at Universiti Tun Abdul Razak in Kelana Jaya, where he met friends who shared his creative interests, that his passion was reignited.
In 2007, his father bought him a camera, and Yuji dove headfirst back into photography — this time, focusing on music gigs and live events with his friends. His passion for music photography was deeply influenced by legendary photographer Jim Marshall, known for his iconic images of rock legends like Johnny Cash.
Eyes dancing with enthusiasm, Yuji shares that he's captivated by Marshall's ability to capture the raw energy of music and the intensity of the performers. Inspired, he decided to do the same for Malaysia's local underground scene, photographing bands like Butterfingers and OAG.
But by 2012, as the DSLR craze swept the photography world, Yuji began to feel disillusioned. Never being one to follow trends, he slowed down, finding himself less interested in the mass appeal of trendy gear and more drawn to the quiet simplicity of his own vision. He briefly ventured into landscape photography, even having one of his photos featured in a Tenaga Nasional Berhad calendar.
Then, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he stopped. The camera remained on his shelf, unused, and for years, his photography was put on hold. The lens, once a tool of creative expression, lay dormant. But his father's question, "Why aren't you taking photos anymore?" would eventually bring him back to life behind the camera.
ANSWERING A CALL
"Three months before he passed away, I was home in Kulai and my dad suddenly asked me, 'Why aren't you taking photos anymore?'" recalls Yuji, voice low. Looking forlorn momentarily, he continues: "That question haunted me for a long time. I felt guilty for not picking up my camera."
The grief of losing his father became intertwined with the memory of that question, and it was in those quiet, difficult months following his death that Yuji, the youngest of three siblings, began to rediscover his love for photography.
Motivated by his father's memory and a desire to reconnect with his creative side, he made a return — this time with a rangefinder camera and a 35mm lens.
His gaze steady, the Libran shares: "I bought a second-hand Leica camera and started shooting again, wandering the streets of Kuala Lumpur — Petaling Street, Bukit Bintang — places my dad used to take me when I was a kid. It felt as if he was there with me, his presence a source of comfort."
OF LOVE AND LOSS
Yuji's rediscovery of photography culminated in his debut photobook, Why Aren't You Taking Photos Anymore?, a deeply personal project that blends street photography with intimate reflections on his father's life and death, with guidance from Gueari Gallery and Photobook Club KL (PBCKL).
The photobook is self-published, handmade, and meticulously crafted — a true labour of love. Each image is a piece of his story, from a picture of his mother walking alone, to a photograph of a stray cat, symbolising his father's love for animals.
"The book tells the story of my dad, but it also tells my own journey back to photography," Yuji explains, adding: "Every photo in this book has a memory tied to it. Like this one" — he says, pointing to an image of a man waiting, a shot that reminds him of his father's patience. "My dad was always so punctual. He taught me that, and now I try to carry that with me in everything I do."
ROAD TO ATHENS
As Yuji talks about the upcoming trip to Athens, his excitement is palpable, but there's also a humility in his words. "This award is my answer to my dad's question. It's my way of saying, 'I'm still here, still capturing life, still creating.'"
The IPA recognition is a huge milestone in Yuji's career, but his journey has always been more about personal growth than public acclaim. "When I started this journey again, I didn't think about awards. I thought about my dad, about the memories I wanted to preserve," he confides, before steering my attention to the book in front of him and continuing softy: "But this… this feels like he's still with me, watching and proud."
Yuji's path forward is clear. Beyond the award, he continues to teach, share his knowledge with others, and help cultivate a photography community in Malaysia. "There's so much untapped talent here. I want to help other photographers get the exposure they deserve, just like I've been fortunate enough to have," he exclaims, tone earnest.
A FINAL FRAME
As the evening winds down, and I prepare to leave the Leica Store, I find myself lingering in front of one last photograph in Yuji's winning photobook — a simple and powerful image of a father carrying his child on his shoulders. "This is my favourite," Yuji says softly, eyes misting as he reflects on the tenderness of a past recollection.
Continuing, he confides: "Whenever I see a father carrying a child on his shoulders, I cry inside. I always remember this moment with my dad. He used to take me to a lot of events and he'd carry me on his shoulders because as a kid, I was very short."
In that single frame, captured in black and white, I see not just the love between a father and son, but the essence of Yuji's entire journey — of loss, of rediscovery, and of the unbreakable bond that endures through art. His photography is more than just pictures; it's a way of keeping his father alive, one frame at a time.
As I gather my things and reflect on the session which is soon to conclude, it dawns on me that Yuji's work is a reminder that the stories we capture, the memories we hold, are never truly gone. They live on in the images we create, and in the hearts of those who continue to see the world through the lens of love.
Go to www.yujihaikal.com for more of Yuji's work.