Sabah, the land of my mother, holds some of its greatest secrets close to the chest. The rafflesia, the world’s largest flower, smells like rotting flesh, takes six to nine months to flower bloom, and only does so deep in the Bornean rainforest, protected from the casual observer. Mt. Kinabalu, Malaysia’s highest peak, can be seen from flat, neon green padi fields from hundreds of kilometers away, but soon after morning, its craggy face is obscured by thick Sabahan mists.
A song, inspired by a short story, inspired by a doodle. Also, there's a gif.
"Once upon a time, there was a magical land full of unicorns.
Barry looked at the words he had scrawled on the paper. 'That’s dumb,' said Barry out loud. 'It’s not really that magical,' he said, scratching out the word 'magical.'"
"I got my burritos, walked out to the parking lot decorated with brightly colored pennants and string lights, and wondered, inanely, whether places like this would continue to exist after tonight."
"He’s as good as dead,” they said. “A vegetable.”
They were talking about a man we knew from church. I didn’t know him very well, though he was one of those figures that had always existed on the periphery of my childhood.
Things were new and exciting, and I explored every neighborhood I could, going to strange LA salons and tastings and tours and hosted dinners, in part so I could tell my friends about them later, finishing each story with, “It was soooo LA.” I felt great about my agency, and by god, I was really living.
