The journey of board games finding their place in Kota Kinabalu is not just a tale of entertainment or retail opportunities, but rather a story woven with personal connections, cultural expression, and the passion of a small yet determined community. When the games were first made available in Salt x Paper, a humble stationery and gift shop in the heart of the city, near the old Tong Hing supermarket, it marked more than just another outlet stocking consumer products. It was a symbolic arrival of Malaysian designed games into the everyday lives of locals and visitors alike. Kota Kinabalu has always had a special character—laid back yet vibrant, a meeting place of diverse cultures, and a destination known for its natural beauty. To see board games crafted with local themes and Malaysian creativity showcased here was like watching a circle close, bringing together heritage, modern design, and communal play. This arrival was not random but the result of thoughtful connections, such as the support from Choon Ean of LUMA, a talented designer herself, who made it possible for these games to travel across states and find their home on new shelves. Such gestures reflect how intertwined personal bonds and collective spirit are in the journey of spreading board games within Malaysia.
Stepping into Salt x Paper, one immediately notices that this is no ordinary shop. It is filled with art, postcards, stickers, tote bags, and a carefully curated selection of locally inspired merchandise. The items are not just products; they are stories in physical form. Each postcard carries a piece of the city’s soul, each tote bag whispers of Sabah’s daily life, and each sticker illustrates themes both familiar and nostalgic to residents and fascinating to tourists. To place Malaysian designed board games amidst this collection makes perfect sense, for board games too are vessels of storytelling. Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Snow White and the Eleven Dwarfs, and other games like Kaki Lima Downtown KL and Trishaw Frenzy do not merely offer mechanics of play but also introduce the players to narratives and cultural flavors that are deeply connected to this land. Tourists entering the shop looking for souvenirs can leave not just with a postcard but with an entire game that lets them carry home a slice of Malaysian creativity. Locals visiting the store can discover that games designed here are not imitations of foreign imports but proud creations that stand on their own while echoing shared heritage.
What makes the presence of these games in Kota Kinabalu particularly meaningful is the personal connection of the creator to the city. Delivering stock to Salt x Paper was not just a business errand but also a return to family, to parents, and to childhood memories of growing up in Sabah. Bringing games here was a way of giving back, of ensuring that hometown friends and residents could access these works without the barriers of distance or distribution logistics. There is something deeply grounding about seeing your creative efforts available in the very streets where you once walked as a child, now accessible to the younger generation who might grow up discovering the joy of tabletop play. It also reflects a broader mission: that of introducing Malaysian board games to as wide an audience as possible, especially to those who may not yet be familiar with them. The gaming industry in Malaysia is still small and emerging, and visibility is one of the biggest challenges. Every new shelf, every new shop, every new festival matters.
The promotion of board games in spaces that are not game-specific is a deliberate and necessary effort. This was evident during the art festival at KEDAI KL, where participation meant bringing board games to an audience not already predisposed to them. While the crowd was modest and the event was not designed with gamers in mind, the importance lay in reaching out to those who might otherwise never encounter board games in their daily routines. The people attending such festivals are often curious, open-minded, and appreciative of art and design. By introducing board games into this context, the games are reframed not only as tools for play but also as cultural artifacts, as pieces of art that combine illustration, narrative, and interactive experience. Selling even a single copy, such as Knights and Rebels for a fellow designer, represents not just a transaction but the planting of a seed. Every person who takes a game home becomes an ambassador, potentially sharing the experience with family and friends, creating ripples of awareness and appreciation.
This effort of creating awareness is amplified by community ties and mutual support among designers. Acknowledgments to people like Trixie from The Lepak Game show how much of the growth of Malaysian board games depends on collaboration and shared enthusiasm rather than competition. Trixie’s own work, releasing a new edition with refined art and packaging, demonstrates the constant evolution and perseverance needed in the industry. Similarly, the connection with Choon Ean illustrates how introductions and networks can open new doors. In small industries, where resources are limited, such cooperation is the lifeblood of progress. By consistently carrying a bag of local games to showcase, whether at festivals, shops, or presentations, the mission becomes clear: to promote not just one’s own work but the collective output of Malaysian creators. The games are stronger together, and the identity of Malaysian board games is forged not by a single title but by a growing library that reflects diverse voices, themes, and styles.
The presence of locally designed games in Kota Kinabalu is not simply a matter of retail expansion, but a living example of how culture, memory, and play intersect. Board games have always carried within them the seeds of storytelling, and when these stories are rooted in the everyday life, myths, and folklore of a particular community, they become powerful tools of cultural identity. In Malaysia, with its rich diversity of traditions and languages, each game that emerges from the creative scene carries with it a voice that tells players who Malaysians are, what they imagine, and how they play. Games like Kaki Lima or Trishaw Frenzy do not exist in isolation. They are artifacts that celebrate the rhythms of the street, the familiar clatter of wheels on pavement, the vibrant energy of local life. They invite players not only to roll dice or move tokens but also to experience a narrative that is deeply tied to the lived reality of Malaysians. To stock these games in a shop that also celebrates local art, design, and souvenirs reinforces the idea that games are as much cultural expressions as paintings or postcards.
This role of board games as cultural storytelling is especially important in places like Sabah, where heritage is layered and diverse. The shop Salt x Paper, situated near landmarks familiar to generations of Kota Kinabalu residents, becomes a symbolic gateway for connecting tradition to modern play. When a tourist or a local purchases a copy of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, they are not just buying a game but also engaging with centuries-old folklore reframed through contemporary design. The reinterpretation of such stories for the tabletop setting allows both old and young to interact with myth in a playful and communal way. Unlike books or films that deliver stories in one direction, board games allow participants to enter the narrative, shape outcomes, and laugh together at unexpected turns. This interactivity transforms folklore into living memory, ensuring that cultural stories continue to circulate in fresh and engaging forms. Such games also reveal how Malaysian designers see themselves as custodians of stories, weaving together inspiration from both global traditions and local heritage to create works that resonate widely.
The importance of situating games in everyday cultural spaces cannot be overstated. At an art festival, for example, people often come seeking inspiration, beauty, or creative energy. When they encounter board games in that environment, they see them not merely as pastimes but as designed objects infused with artistry and vision. The artwork on the cards, the symbolism embedded in the mechanics, and the tactile pleasure of components are appreciated as part of the wider spectrum of cultural production. In this context, board games are liberated from the niche of hobby stores and instead take their place alongside crafts, paintings, and music. They are no longer understood solely in terms of entertainment value but as experiences that belong to a broader cultural and social conversation. The very act of introducing games to non-gamers at such festivals reflects a conscious effort to expand their meaning, to invite people to see games as relevant to daily life, community, and even national identity.
This process of cultural positioning is also about accessibility. Too often, board games are perceived as luxuries or specialized hobbies reserved for enthusiasts who know the jargon and follow international trends. By placing Malaysian games in spaces frequented by the general public—gift shops, art festivals, community events—they become accessible and approachable. A passerby who might never set foot in a dedicated game shop can stumble upon a colorful box, be drawn in by its artwork, and discover that board games can be simple, fun, and meaningful. This accessibility is crucial for nurturing a new generation of players and for ensuring that board games do not remain confined to narrow circles. The experience of selling even one game at an event illustrates how important each small step is. Every new player gained represents a potential advocate who may introduce others to the hobby, who may become a future designer, or who may simply carry forward an appreciation of Malaysian creativity. The grassroots nature of this process cannot be underestimated; cultural industries often grow slowly but steadily, rooted in these everyday encounters.
The collective effort of designers working together underscores the idea that building a cultural identity through games is not the work of one individual but of a community. Each designer brings their own themes, mechanics, and artistic vision, but when these works are presented side by side—as in a showcase bag filled with local titles—they form a mosaic of Malaysian play culture. The Lepak Game, Knights and Rebels, Petal Plotters, and others all tell different stories, yet together they demonstrate the breadth of imagination within the country. Acknowledging the contributions of peers like Trixie or Nick is not just courtesy but recognition of the shared struggle to make board games a visible and respected part of Malaysian culture. This culture of mutual support reflects values deeply embedded in Malaysian society: collaboration, community, and generosity. As the industry continues to grow, these values will shape not only the kinds of games that are produced but also the way in which they are distributed, promoted, and celebrated within the wider world.
The Growing Presence of Board Games in Kota Kinabalu
The story of board games arriving in Kota Kinabalu is not merely about placing boxes on a store shelf; it is about the weaving together of memory, culture, and creativity into a shared experience that belongs to the community. Kota Kinabalu, with its relaxed coastal charm and multicultural vibrancy, has long been a place where stories converge—from the oral traditions of local communities to the bustling mix of cultures that define its streets. Against this backdrop, introducing Malaysian designed board games into a local shop like Salt x Paper takes on a symbolic weight. It is not only the act of making a product available for purchase but also the quiet declaration that play, culture, and storytelling have a rightful place in the everyday life of Sabahans. The decision to stock games in Salt x Paper was not random. It came through relationships built over time, connections nurtured through trust and shared passion. The involvement of Choon Ean, designer of Kaki Lima and Bansan, exemplifies how creative networks function: one creator paving the way for another, ensuring that the work of fellow designers finds its audience. Through her gesture of bringing stock to Kota Kinabalu, and the follow-up delivery that followed during a family visit, the games found their way home—not only to a city but also to a community that could embrace them.
Walking into Salt x Paper, one quickly realizes it is no ordinary stationery and gift shop. The air inside carries the feel of creativity curated with care. Postcards line the shelves, each one capturing moments and images that feel both nostalgic and fresh. Stickers, tote bags, and small artworks dot the displays, and together they create a gallery of everyday art accessible to anyone who steps through the door. It is not a place where one finds sterile merchandise mass-produced without context; it is a place where every item tells a story. In this environment, board games take on a new identity. They are no longer just tools for play; they stand alongside these art pieces as expressions of culture and imagination. Games like Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, Snow White and the Eleven Dwarfs, and Trishaw Frenzy feel right at home here, because they too are rooted in storytelling traditions, folklore, and local themes. Tourists browsing the shop for souvenirs may leave with more than a postcard—they may leave with a box that allows them to relive Malaysian stories in interactive form. Locals stepping inside may be surprised to discover that games designed in their own country exist and are accessible, carrying with them a sense of pride that creativity here is alive and thriving.
The act of bringing games to Kota Kinabalu is layered with personal meaning. For a creator returning to visit parents, delivering stock was not only about business but about reconnecting with home. Childhood memories of the city mingle with the sight of games now available on its shelves. This continuity—past, present, and future—creates a powerful resonance. To know that younger generations may discover these games in the same city where one once grew up creates a sense of legacy. Games are not only commercial products; they are also cultural gifts. Making them available in a hometown is a way of giving back, ensuring that the joy of play and the pride of local design are shared with the community that shaped one’s early life. It highlights the mission at the heart of the local board game movement: to bring awareness, to spark curiosity, and to grow a culture of play that is rooted in Malaysia. In a market still dominated by international titles, the visibility of Malaysian games in Kota Kinabalu is an act of affirmation. It says: our stories matter, our games matter, and they deserve to be seen.
Promoting games in settings beyond hobby shops is both a challenge and a necessity. This became clear during events like the art festival at KEDAI KL, where board games were showcased not to dedicated gamers but to a general audience seeking creativity and leisure. The crowd was modest, mostly young people wandering between stalls, but the significance lay in the exposure. These were not individuals actively searching for board games, yet their encounter with them was meaningful. Each introduction of board games into such non-gaming contexts expands the circle of awareness. It reframes games as not only for hobbyists but for everyone—families, students, tourists, and anyone curious enough to sit down and play. Selling even a single copy of Knights and Rebels at such an event may seem like a small achievement, but it represents the planting of seeds. That game will find its way to a table, and from there into the conversations and laughter of a group. Those players may in turn seek out other local games, slowly creating ripples of interest that spread far beyond the initial sale. Such grassroots growth is slow but essential. It mirrors the way cultures are built—not in sudden bursts but through countless small, sustained interactions.
The importance of positioning board games within cultural and artistic spaces cannot be overstated. At an art festival, people are primed to appreciate creativity, to see beauty in forms beyond the ordinary. By placing board games in this context, they are recognized not only as entertainment but as designed objects—artworks in their own right. The illustrations on the cards, the visual layout of boards, the tactile feel of pieces all contribute to an experience that sits comfortably beside paintings, crafts, and music. This blending of play and art helps expand the perception of games, encouraging people to see them as part of a larger cultural tapestry. For non-gamers encountering a game in such a setting, the discovery is often revelatory: here is a medium that combines storytelling, design, and interaction in ways both familiar and surprising. By consistently carrying a bag of local games to such events, the creator becomes a traveling ambassador, bringing a slice of the Malaysian board game world to spaces where it might otherwise remain unknown. Each showcase, each conversation, is an opportunity to redefine what games mean to people.
Equally important is the spirit of community and mutual support that drives this movement. Acknowledging figures like Trixie from The Lepak Game, who has been working on a new edition of her creation, illustrates the collaborative heart of the industry. These are not isolated creators competing for limited attention, but a network of designers lifting one another up, opening doors and sharing opportunities. When one succeeds, it benefits the entire scene, because it brings more visibility, credibility, and momentum. The effort to present a diverse collection of games together—from Lepak Game to Petal Plotters to Kaki Lima Downtown KL—shows how collective identity strengthens individual voices. Rather than one game standing alone, there is a chorus of titles, each adding to the richness of Malaysian creativity. This solidarity is crucial in a young industry, where resources are scarce and challenges are many. It fosters resilience, ensuring that setbacks faced by one designer can be met with encouragement and lessons shared by others. In this way, the industry is not just about products but about people, relationships, and a shared vision for the future.
Even formal initiatives, like the STTOS Sabah game design competition, reveal how this community spirit extends into broader efforts to nurture creativity. The presentation day, where contestants gathered in Kota Kinabalu to showcase their work to judges, reflects the seriousness and ambition behind the local game scene. For some, it meant flying into the city for a single day, a testament to their commitment and passion. For others, it meant presenting online, bridging distances but still participating fully. The competition was not simply about winning or recognition; it was about providing a platform where ideas could be tested, feedback could be received, and designers could feel that their efforts were part of something larger. It tied together the threads of local pride, regional connection, and national ambition. By participating, whether in person or virtually, creators added their voices to the growing chorus declaring that Malaysia has its own board game identity worth nurturing. For the city of Kota Kinabalu, hosting such a moment underscores its role not only as a hometown for some but also as a stage for emerging creativity.
Taken together, these efforts—the stocking of games in Salt x Paper, the showcasing at art festivals, the mutual support among designers, and the staging of competitions—paint a picture of a scene that is still young but full of vitality. The arrival of Malaysian games in Kota Kinabalu is not a final destination but a milestone along a larger journey. It represents the intertwining of personal memory and professional ambition, of cultural storytelling and commercial viability, of local pride and national aspiration. It shows how board games can become more than pastimes: they can be vehicles for heritage, identity, and connection. For Kota Kinabalu, the presence of these games enriches the cultural landscape of the city, offering both locals and visitors a chance to engage with Malaysian creativity in a playful, interactive way. For the creators, it is a reminder that the work they do resonates beyond their immediate circles, finding a place in the hearts of strangers who pick up a box, open it, and discover the joy of play. The journey continues, but the foundation is laid, and the seeds are planted in the fertile soil of Kota Kinabalu’s community and culture.
Cultural Identity and the Storytelling Power of Games
Board games, when placed in the context of Malaysian culture, are not merely entertainment but an evolving form of storytelling that allows communities to see themselves reflected in tangible, interactive ways. The arrival of these games in Kota Kinabalu adds another layer to the cultural fabric of the city, situating play as part of the heritage that deserves to be experienced and preserved. In many ways, every Malaysian-designed board game carries a story far beyond its rules, tokens, or cards. A title like Kaki Lima, for instance, is not just about dice or cards but about recreating the experience of walking the iconic five-foot ways of Southeast Asian shop houses, places that carry history, commerce, and social life in equal measure. When locals sit down to play, they do not simply roll and move; they re-enter familiar spaces and recognize scenes that belong to their daily lives. Tourists who play it experience a window into the local culture, gaining insight into rhythms and details that may otherwise escape them. Board games become vessels of cultural transmission, and when they are displayed in shops or art events in Kota Kinabalu, they communicate to both locals and outsiders that Malaysian creativity has its own voice, its own identity, and its own playful ways of expressing memory and imagination.
This identity is further reinforced by the way folklore and myth are reimagined in game form. Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, though rooted in Middle Eastern legend, resonates strongly within Malaysia due to centuries of storytelling traditions and cultural cross-pollination. By adapting such a tale into a game format, designers breathe new life into the narrative, allowing participants to become actors within the myth rather than mere listeners. Similarly, Snow White and the Eleven Dwarfs plays with global fairy tale conventions while infusing them with a uniquely local twist, creating a blend of familiarity and surprise that sparks joy across different audiences. These games highlight the adaptability of board games as a medium: they can carry traditional stories, modern humor, or social commentary, and present them in ways that encourage engagement rather than passive reception. In Kota Kinabalu, where diversity and layered heritage define the city’s character, such games are not alien intrusions but natural extensions of the cultural landscape. They mirror the hybridity of Malaysian identity, where global and local coexist, and where storytelling evolves through constant reinvention.
The power of games as cultural carriers lies not only in their content but also in their form. The tactile nature of cards, tokens, and boards connects players to the physicality of play, grounding them in the moment and anchoring memories through touch and interaction. Unlike digital media that often isolates individuals behind screens, board games demand presence. They bring people to a shared table, encouraging conversation, laughter, negotiation, and sometimes even conflict—all of which are social acts deeply tied to community life. In Sabah, where traditions of communal gathering, storytelling, and celebration remain strong, board games resonate as a modern continuation of these practices. Playing a Malaysian-designed game in Kota Kinabalu is not an isolated act; it is a communal ritual that reinforces bonds while also projecting cultural identity. The packaging, the art, and even the language used in these games signal to players that they are part of a living tradition that values both creativity and connection. This makes board games more than consumer items—they are instruments of cultural continuity.
One of the most remarkable aspects of placing board games in spaces like Salt x Paper or art festivals is that it reframes them as objects of cultural value rather than purely recreational pastimes. In an art shop, surrounded by postcards that depict Mount Kinabalu or tote bags featuring traditional motifs, a board game becomes part of the same narrative of cultural preservation and celebration. Visitors perceive them not only as games but as creative works that embody design, artistry, and imagination. Each illustration on a game card or cover is itself a piece of art, and when woven together with mechanics and narratives, the game becomes a collaborative artwork in motion. For non-gamers who encounter these titles for the first time in such spaces, the experience is transformative. They realize that board games are not foreign imports with obscure rules, but local creations that speak in familiar symbols and stories. This reframing is essential for growing the local industry, because it expands the perception of games beyond narrow hobbyist circles and situates them within the larger currents of cultural life.
Accessibility is another crucial dimension of this cultural identity. Many Malaysians may not have the time, money, or exposure to travel to specialized gaming stores in larger cities. By placing games in shops that locals already frequent, such as stationery and gift outlets, creators bridge the gap between the hobbyist niche and the general public. A student buying postcards may stumble upon a colorful game box, a parent shopping for gifts may be drawn to the artwork, and a tourist looking for souvenirs may find themselves intrigued by a game that captures the essence of Malaysia. This ease of access normalizes board games, making them part of everyday consumption patterns rather than exotic luxuries. It also democratizes play, ensuring that cultural storytelling through games reaches wider audiences. In Kota Kinabalu, where accessibility and visibility are often barriers due to geographical distance from the nation’s primary commercial hubs, this shift is particularly meaningful. It signals that local creativity is not confined to Kuala Lumpur or Penang but has a place in Sabah too, affirming the cultural richness of the state and empowering its residents with pride in homegrown talent.
Equally important in this journey is the role of mutual support among creators, which mirrors the values of community embedded within Malaysian society. Acknowledging peers like Trixie of The Lepak Game or Nick with Knights and Rebels illustrates that this is not a solitary pursuit but a collective mission. When designers carry each other’s games to events, when they showcase a diverse array of titles together, they are not only promoting individual projects but building an ecosystem. This sense of solidarity enhances the cultural identity of Malaysian board games, because it situates them within a shared narrative of resilience, creativity, and collaboration. The Lepak Game, with its new edition and fresh artwork, is itself a symbol of iteration, persistence, and belief in the cultural value of local play. By supporting one another, designers demonstrate that board games are not only about competition but about fostering a living, breathing culture that thrives on cooperation. This ethos strengthens the credibility of the movement, giving it depth and continuity, and ensuring that cultural identity is built not on isolated efforts but on shared visions.
The broader efforts, such as the STTOS Sabah game design competition, illustrate how cultural identity is nurtured through structured opportunities for expression. Competitions provide a stage for ideas to be tested and voices to be heard, and in doing so, they expand the reach of board games beyond commercial settings. For Kota Kinabalu to host such presentations is a powerful statement: it positions the city as a hub for creative exchange, where local and visiting designers can contribute to the shaping of a distinctly Malaysian identity in board games. Whether participating physically or virtually, designers bring with them stories rooted in their experiences, and when these stories are shared, critiqued, and celebrated, they enrich the collective cultural conversation. The presence of judges, peers, and community members at such events signals that board games have earned a place within the broader cultural dialogue of the region. They are recognized not only as leisure activities but as cultural texts, worthy of attention, preservation, and growth. Through these platforms, the storytelling power of games finds fertile ground, ensuring that Malaysia’s cultural identity is continually expressed in new, playful, and meaningful ways.
The growth of board games in Kota Kinabalu and beyond cannot be separated from the idea of awareness, because awareness is the lifeblood of any emerging cultural industry. For many people in Malaysia, the concept of modern board games is still unfamiliar. They might know traditional games like congkak or carrom, which are deeply embedded in cultural memory, but they have little exposure to the wide variety of modern tabletop designs that have flourished globally over the last few decades. When someone walks into Salt x Paper or visits an art festival and sees a game like Trishaw Frenzy or Petal Plotters, their first reaction is often curiosity: what is this, and how does it work? That curiosity is the spark of awareness, and it is this spark that needs to be nurtured again and again through repeated exposure. Awareness is not built overnight; it grows through many small encounters—seeing a game on a shelf, watching someone play at a festival, hearing a friend mention a local title, or stumbling across photos of board gaming sessions on social media. In Kota Kinabalu, where the board gaming scene is smaller compared to bigger cities, each act of exposure carries even greater weight. Every new pair of eyes that lands on a Malaysian game represents an opportunity to grow the culture of play and connect more people to the creative work being done by local designers.
Creating awareness
Creating awareness is about more than visibility; it is about shaping perceptions. For many non-gamers, the assumption might be that board games are either too complicated or too childish. Overcoming these assumptions requires careful presentation. When a game is introduced in a shop filled with art and souvenirs, it is framed as an object of cultural value rather than a toy. When a designer personally demonstrates a game at a festival, explaining the rules with patience and enthusiasm, it reframes the experience as communal rather than intimidating. These moments matter because they change how people think about games. They begin to see that games can be accessible, engaging, and meaningful, that they can serve as tools for family bonding, social gatherings, and even education. In Kota Kinabalu, where communities are tightly knit and social interaction is a central part of life, the positioning of games as bridges for connection resonates strongly. The more people understand that games can bring value to their lives, the more willing they are to embrace them, purchase them, and share them with others.
Awareness, however, does not automatically translate into community. Community requires active effort, sustained engagement, and the cultivation of safe and welcoming spaces where people feel they belong. In the context of board games, this might mean organizing regular meetups, creating platforms where players and designers can interact, or collaborating with schools, universities, and cultural centers to introduce games to new audiences. Kota Kinabalu, with its growing interest in creative industries and cultural activities, is fertile ground for such initiatives. A local cafe that opens its doors for board gaming nights can quickly become a hub where strangers meet and friendships are formed. A school that integrates Malaysian games into classroom activities can nurture young players who grow up seeing board games as part of their everyday life. These communities form the backbone of the industry because they provide the consistent demand and enthusiasm needed to sustain designers and retailers alike. Without community, awareness risks becoming a fleeting curiosity. With community, awareness deepens into loyalty and love for the hobby.
The building of communities around games also creates opportunities for cross-pollination with other creative fields. In a place like Salt x Paper, where art, stationery, and souvenirs already draw in diverse crowds, board games become part of a larger cultural conversation. Artists who contribute postcards or stickers to the shop might find inspiration in game design, while tourists who come for souvenirs may discover an interest in Malaysian culture through play. These overlaps blur the boundaries between creative industries, enriching all of them in the process. At an art festival, the act of showcasing games alongside paintings and crafts transforms them into another medium of artistic expression. This cross-pollination can attract people who might not have otherwise considered board games relevant to their lives, expanding the community by drawing in individuals with different passions and backgrounds. The synergy between these creative fields helps reinforce the idea that board games are not isolated hobbies but integral to the wider cultural ecosystem. In Kota Kinabalu, a city that thrives on tourism and cultural exchange, this interconnectedness holds particular potential for growth.
Mutual support among designers is another dimension of community building that cannot be overlooked. When designers like Trixie, Nick, and Choon Ean collaborate by sharing opportunities, promoting one another’s games, and carrying each other’s titles to events, they are not only helping each other succeed but also nurturing a stronger collective identity. This collaboration models the kind of community spirit that players themselves are encouraged to adopt. Just as a group of players gathers around a table to support, challenge, and enjoy each other, so too do designers band together to lift the industry as a whole. In Kota Kinabalu, where resources may be more limited than in larger cities, such collaboration becomes even more essential. It ensures that no one feels isolated, that challenges are faced together, and that successes are celebrated as collective victories. This sense of community among creators mirrors the communities they hope to foster among players, creating a cycle of mutual reinforcement that strengthens the foundation of Malaysian board gaming culture.
Events such as the STTOS Sabah game design competition highlight how communities are built not only among players but also among creators and supporters. Competitions provide a structured environment where ideas are exchanged, skills are honed, and innovation is celebrated. For Kota Kinabalu to host such an event is a testament to its role as a growing hub for creativity in Malaysia. Even though some participants had to travel from far away and others presented virtually, the gathering itself signaled the presence of a supportive community eager to see local talent flourish. Judges, contestants, and audiences all contributed to the sense of shared purpose, recognizing that the future of Malaysian board games depends not just on individual brilliance but on collective encouragement. By participating in such events, designers affirm their role not only as creators but also as members of a larger cultural movement. The competition thus becomes more than a contest; it becomes a celebration of community and a milestone in the broader effort to make board games a vital part of Malaysian cultural life.
Ultimately, the expansion of awareness and the building of communities are interwoven processes that drive the sustainability of the board game movement in Kota Kinabalu and across Malaysia. Awareness introduces people to the existence and value of games, while communities provide the space and energy to sustain that interest over time. Together, they create a virtuous cycle: awareness draws new players into the fold, and community deepens their engagement, which in turn creates more awareness as these players introduce games to their own networks. This cycle is slow, patient, and often fragile, but it is also powerful. With every new shelf stocked in a local shop, every event hosted at a festival, and every gathering organized by passionate players, the cycle grows stronger. In Kota Kinabalu, these efforts represent not only a business venture but also a cultural mission—to ensure that Malaysian games have a home, that they are celebrated by both locals and visitors, and that they contribute to the building of vibrant, creative, and connected communities through the power of play.
Conclusion
The journey of Malaysian board games finding their way into Kota Kinabalu, into Salt x Paper, into art festivals, and into the hearts of new players is more than just a commercial milestone. It is a story of how creativity, culture, and community come together through something as seemingly simple as play. What began with a small act of connection—one designer helping another to place games in a shop—has grown into a broader narrative about how board games can carry cultural identity, foster storytelling, and build bridges between people. Each encounter with a Malaysian-designed game, whether on a shop shelf or at a festival table, is an invitation to experience Malaysia in a different way: through stories retold, traditions reimagined, and laughter shared across a table. In Kota Kinabalu, a city rich in diversity and memory, these encounters are especially meaningful, because they root the games not only in creative expression but also in the lived realities of the people who call the city home.
What stands out most in this journey is the role of community. Without the support of fellow designers, without the openness of shop owners, without the curiosity of festival-goers, the games would remain unseen, their stories unheard. The Malaysian board game movement thrives not on individual ambition alone but on a collective spirit that values collaboration and generosity. Designers carry each other’s games, celebrate each other’s achievements, and share spaces where their works can be discovered. Players too become part of this story, introducing friends and family to games, keeping them alive at tables, and spreading awareness in ways that no marketing campaign can fully replicate. In Kota Kinabalu, every game sold, every session played, every conversation sparked becomes part of this community-building process, weaving a stronger fabric for the industry’s future.
The cultural dimension of these games cannot be understated. They are not merely diversions; they are reflections of Malaysian life and imagination. Titles like Kaki Lima, Trishaw Frenzy, and The Lepak Game capture the essence of local streets, humor, and traditions, turning them into playful experiences that resonate with both Malaysians and visitors. They remind us that games, like postcards or souvenirs, can serve as cultural ambassadors, carrying stories beyond borders and generations. By situating games in spaces like Salt x Paper, where art and culture are already celebrated, their role as cultural artifacts is highlighted. They stand not just as boxes on a shelf but as invitations to understand Malaysia through interaction, choice, and play. For Kota Kinabalu, this integration enriches the city’s cultural landscape, ensuring that creativity thrives in forms both traditional and modern.
Looking ahead, the challenges remain significant. Awareness must continue to grow, communities must continue to be nurtured, and creators must persist in the face of limited resources. Yet the progress already made demonstrates what is possible when passion meets perseverance. The competitions, festivals, and shop placements all show that there is space for Malaysian board games in the national conversation and that they have the potential to stand proudly alongside international titles. The seeds planted in Kota Kinabalu will continue to grow, watered by curiosity, creativity, and the enduring joy of play. In time, more players will discover these games, more shops will carry them, and more communities will adopt them as part of their cultural lives.