On Monday, the 13th of April at 4 p.m., I will be opening a small exhibition at ChinaHouse. This is an open invitation, and I would really love for you to come by.

This exhibition is a starting point. A first step towards a larger exhibition that will take place later this year on the 15th of November.

The works are centred around Malaysian herbs and their flowers. Things we see and use every day, but rarely stop to look at. Coriander, for example, has an incredibly delicate flower. Nutmeg as well. Once you isolate them, enlarge them, and really look, they become something else entirely.

It’s a reminder that beauty is often hidden in what we consider ordinary.

This is not a Nala exhibition.
This is personal.

It’s about returning to the act of painting itself. With everything that comes with running a business, I realised I had stopped making time for it. And this is my way of changing that.

This exhibition only happened because of two people who gently pushed me.

Narelle McMurtry invited me to host this first showing, and Kee E-Lene invited me to create a larger exhibition later in the year, on the 15th of November. I said yes to both, which means I will be painting a lot this year.

The works themselves were created across three places. I started in Singapore, continued in Kuala Lumpur, and finished in Penang. Each location left its own mark, which I quite like.

And because I’m drawn to fabric and movement, the paintings are done on unstretched canvas. They hang more like textiles, with our patterns sitting behind them, creating a layered backdrop.

For this opening, we will have archival prints, postcards, and selected works available.

It’s simple. No big production. Just a moment to share the work.

Monday, 13th April
4 p.m.
ChinaHouse, Penang

Everyone is invited.
I hope to see you there.

For me, Kimono: The Art and Evolution of Japanese Fashion is that book.

Published by Thames & Hudson and edited by Anna Jackson, it draws largely from the extraordinary holdings of the Khalili Collections. These collections were assembled by Sir David Khalili, a British Iranian scholar and collector who dedicated decades to preserving some of the world’s most important art. His Japanese art collection is considered one of the most comprehensive in private hands, and what moves me is the seriousness behind it. This was not decorative collecting. It was systematic, academic, and deeply intentional, a lifetime devoted to safeguarding beauty.

That depth is felt in every page of this book.

Each kimono is not simply a garment but an engineered composition. It is mathematics, poetry, architecture and discipline translated into silk. The placement of motifs is so intelligent that it almost feels unfair. Entire landscapes unfold only when the sleeve falls in a certain way, and blossoms travel across seams with such confidence that the garment becomes a moving canvas. The negative space breathes as deliberately as the most intricate embroidery.

As someone who is completely obsessed with patterns, I turn these pages and experience that very honest designer moment of thinking that I wish I had drawn this myself. What strikes me again and again is the restraint. The ability to know when to stop. The courage to leave space untouched. Every composition feels inevitable rather than applied, as if it could never have been arranged differently.

At the same time, I feel a genuine sadness when I see antique kimonos cut apart and turned into smaller objects. I understand the argument for reuse and sustainability, but to me a kimono is a complete artwork. It was conceived as a whole, with the silhouette, the drape and the narrative across the body all working together. To separate it feels like cutting a painting into fragments. These pieces carry history in their seams, and they deserve to remain intact.

This book reinforces my belief that true design has dignity and that tradition can evolve without losing its integrity. Whenever I doubt myself as a designer, I open it again, and in doing so I am reminded why I care so deeply about placement, proportion and storytelling through print. It both humbles and energises me, because it shows me what is possible while gently insisting that I aim higher.

More than anything, it makes me dream of Japan, not as a place to visit casually but as a place to study seriously. I imagine dye vats, textile ateliers and artisans who understand colour the way musicians understand sound. I want to learn how they balance boldness with restraint and how they allow a motif to breathe within such a strict structure.

This is not simply one of the most beautiful books I own. It is the standard I measure myself against.

The Balloon Skirt will be available in all stores from this Saturday, including Singapore.

This silhouette began as our Pelikat skirt. It quickly became a favourite because of its volume, ease, and strength. Now it has evolved into batik, while remaining entirely Malaysian in spirit and production. It is 100 percent Malaysian and 100 percent made here. That is something I am very proud of.

This new version is crafted in batik on cotton satin. The fabric is soft with structure, comfortable yet polished. It holds its shape beautifully and moves well on the body. It is effortless to wear, whether styled casually or dressed up.

The skirt comes in two colour versions, each with its own personality, but both rooted in the same heritage craft.

Each piece carries the individuality of handmade work. When it is finished, it is finished. We are not overproducing it. We are honouring the process.

For me, this is a quiet statement of Malaysian pride. A silhouette born from pelikat, reinterpreted in batik, and fully manufactured at home.

I was three years old then. Tanglin was already there. Already alive. Already full of shops, energy, aspiration and style.

And now, decades later, we have a shop in Tanglin Mall.

If that is not full circle, I do not know what is.

Flipping through the pages feels like opening a time capsule. The typography is beautiful. The advertisements are earnest and proud. There are diamond stores, beauticians, directories of tenants. Bata was already around. American Express too. The rhythm of retail, already established.

One headline made me smile: How to work away the flab. The photographs are priceless. The activewear from 1973 looks nothing like what we wear today, yet the message feels familiar. There is also House of Donnie, described as being for the fat and the not so fat. And fifteen hints on how to stay slim.

Clearly, some conversations never change.

It is fascinating to see how culture evolves while certain human concerns remain exactly the same. The silhouettes shift. The colours shift. The language softens or sharpens. But the desire to feel good, look good, belong, and improve ourselves has always been there.

For me, Tanglin Mall is not just another location. I was born in Singapore. Life moved. The brand grew in Malaysia. And now we are back in Singapore, in Tanglin Mall. That small discovery in my mother’s archive suddenly made everything feel connected.

Sometimes the universe leaves you a quiet reminder that nothing is random. That stories loop back. That places hold memory.

And that it always pays to keep old magazines.

On Instagram, kamulch creates extraordinary cityscapes using nothing more than a fountain pen. No digital corrections. No undo button. Just ink, paper, and an incredible amount of patience. The level of detail he achieves is almost unbelievable. Entire streets unfold through thousands of tiny, deliberate lines. It is mind blowing.

What resonates with me personally is the choice of tool. I also draw everything with a fountain pen. There is something about that constant flow of ink that feels alive. The line does not hesitate. It moves as you move. I choose my fountain pens carefully, depending on the thickness of the nib and the kind of line I want to create. And I always carry one with me. It is not just a pen, it is an extension of the hand.

Of course, what he does is another level entirely. The patience alone is extraordinary. To sit, observe, and build an entire world line by line requires discipline, focus, and devotion to craft. You can feel the hours inside each drawing.

And this is exactly the kind of work we should be filling our feeds with. Not gossip. Not endless drama about kings and queens and scandals. But craft. Skill. Dedication. The beauty of someone quietly perfecting their art.

In a world that moves too fast, watching ink flow steadily across paper is a reminder that mastery still exists. And that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is slow down and draw.