During COVID, I had to renew my Malaysian driving licence, and my instructor was Suzana. Since I’d already been driving for years, the lessons were really just an excuse for us to chat. While I was supposedly “learning” to drive, Suzana was scrolling through my Instagram, looking at all my latest Nala patterns and happily telling me which ones she liked, which ones she didn’t, and which colours she thought worked best. Somewhere along the way, my driving instructor unexpectedly became my design consultant.

When it came time to finalise my second Tudung collection, Suzana even brought a few of her fellow driving instructors to our office. They spent the afternoon looking through every design, feeling the fabrics and discussing the colours. I trusted their instincts completely, and every single design they approved became part of the final collection. It might sound unusual, but I’ve always believed that good design should resonate with real people, and that’s exactly what happened.

Not long afterwards, we urgently needed someone for a photoshoot. Suzana had once mentioned that she had a daughter, so I gave her a call and asked if Aliya might be available. Less than half an hour later, Aliya walked into our Kasturi store, and that was the first time I met my muse.

What I love most about Aliya is that she’s simply herself. She has a natural beauty that never tries too hard. She looks just as wonderful without makeup as she does with it, and somehow every collection feels at home on her. Whether she’s wearing our Chinese New Year collection, a Raya outfit, one of our T-shirts or now Aloha Kita, she wears every piece with quiet confidence, pride and humility. She never overshadows the collection. She brings it to life.

Today she’s part of the Nala family, she’s studying marketing, and we’re all looking forward to welcoming her back once she graduates. Some people become the face of a brand. Aliya became part of its heart.

Sometimes the universe has a far better plan than we could ever imagine. Mine just happened to begin with a driving lesson.

You don’t need a house full of designer furniture to create a beautiful space. Sometimes, all it takes is one special piece. Mix it with vintage finds, family heirlooms, or even your favourite IKEA furniture, and suddenly the whole room comes to life.

That’s exactly how we love to decorate. Old and new. Colour and simplicity. Pieces with a story.

Each Nala chair, stool, and bench is handmade in Malaysia by Mr. Soo and upholstered in fabrics from our archive, making every piece completely unique.

While you’re there, you’ll also find our latest T shirts, with the Aloha collection arriving soon.

Come and visit Nala Bangsar Village and discover how one beautiful piece can transform your home.

I checked into a beautifully restored house, turned off my phone, ignored my emails, and disappeared offline for two days. For someone running a business, that is probably the equivalent of a silent meditation retreat. Armed with a sketchbook and an unhealthy level of curiosity, I spent my time wandering around the hill drawing flowers.

What began as a few sketches quickly turned into a full-blown investigation. Every plant I drew sent me down another rabbit hole. Where did it come from? How did it end up on Penang Hill? Was it native? Was it medicinal? Did it have any symbolism attached to it?

The first flower I became obsessed with was the Bleeding Heart Vine. Originally from tropical West Africa, it somehow found its way across the world and now grows happily in Southeast Asia. Its name comes from the flower itself. The outer bracts form the shape of a heart, while the bright red petals emerge from the centre like a drop of blood. Once you see it, you cannot unsee it.

The plant is often associated with love, compassion, and emotional connection, which feels fitting given its appearance. Traditionally, various species of Clerodendrum have also been used in folk medicine to treat inflammation and minor ailments. Whether or not it works, I was fascinated before I even got to the medicinal properties. It was too strange and too beautiful not to draw.

The second flower was the Canna Lily, and unlike the Bleeding Heart Vine, the Canna Lily does not believe in subtlety. Native to tropical America, it travelled across continents and eventually settled comfortably into tropical landscapes throughout Asia. Its enormous leaves and dramatic flowers look as though nature decided to turn the volume all the way up.

The Canna Lily is often associated with confidence, vitality, creativity, and resilience. Its rhizomes have historically been used as a source of starch and in traditional medicine, while the plant itself seems capable of thriving almost anywhere.

My favourite discovery, however, was the Needlewood Tree (Schima wallichii).

Unlike the other plants in this collection, this one truly belongs here. Native to Penang Hill and much of Southeast Asia, it has been part of these forests for centuries.

Its flowers are delicate and understated, with white petals surrounding a cluster of golden stamens. They are easy to miss if you are not paying attention.

Traditionally, parts of the tree have been used to treat fevers and inflammation, while its timber is valued for its strength and durability. Symbolically, the tree represents endurance, resilience, and quiet strength. If there is a plant in this collection that captures the spirit of Penang Hill itself, this is probably it.

The final motif was not a flower at all, but the palm trees that framed almost every view. Their silhouettes appeared repeatedly in my sketchbooks, often without me even realising it. Palm trees have long symbolised abundance, hospitality, freedom, and tropical life. More than anything, they became the backdrop against which all the other botanical stories unfolded.

What fascinated me was not the flowers themselves, but their journeys. Some travelled from Africa. Some came from the Americas. Some have been part of Penang’s landscape for centuries. Together, they tell a story about migration, adaptation, and survival.

The drawings you see in Aloha by Nala began as sketches made during those two days on Penang Hill in February 2025. Over the following eighteen months, they slowly evolved into prints. Every flower, leaf, branch, wave, and palm frond was drawn by hand.

What I thought would be a short escape from work became a collection. More importantly, it reminded me that sometimes the best ideas are not found in trend reports or on Pinterest. Sometimes they are growing quietly beside a walking path, waiting for someone to stop, pay attention, and draw them.

It’s difficult to describe exactly what it is. Part gallery, part furniture store, part design museum, it feels a little like IKEA grew up, went to art school and developed impeccable taste. Every corner is carefully considered, every object has breathing space, and every room invites you to imagine a different way of living.

Walking through it this week, something unexpected struck me. There wasn’t actually that much that was new.

At first, I thought that was disappointing. I’m so used to working in fashion, where we’re constantly thinking about the next collection, the next pattern, the next idea. At Nala, we reinvent ourselves every few months. But The Frozen Fountain reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten.

If something is beautiful, it doesn’t need to change.

The sofas I admired last year were still beautiful. The lamps I wanted to take home were still perfect. The carpets, the ceramics, the art, they had lost none of their appeal simply because time had passed. Good design doesn’t chase trends. It quietly waits for you to appreciate it.

Of course, I still wanted to buy half the shop. A beautiful sofa, a sculptural lamp, an incredible rug and a few pieces of art somehow all found their way onto my imaginary shopping list. Reality quickly reminded me that these things require a slightly larger budget than my suitcase could handle, but dreaming is part of the experience.

What I love most is the visual merchandising. The colour combinations are extraordinary. Nothing feels forced or overcrowded. Every object has a purpose, proving that less really can be more. It’s an inspiring reminder that a home doesn’t have to be filled with things. It simply needs to be filled with the right things.

Perhaps that’s also a very Dutch way of looking at life.

The Dutch invest in their homes. They’ll save for years for the perfect sofa, a beautiful dining table, an artwork or a carpet that they’ll treasure for decades. They might skip a holiday to buy a piece they truly love because home matters. It’s where life happens. It’s where friends gather, families grow and quiet moments are spent. Creating a beautiful home isn’t considered a luxury. It’s considered part of living well.

There’s a touch of wabi-sabi in that philosophy too. The idea that home should bring a sense of peace and comfort, that beauty doesn’t need to be loud and that carefully chosen objects can quietly improve everyday life.

Walking through The Frozen Fountain was a lovely reminder for me personally. Perhaps we don’t always need to reinvent ourselves. Perhaps good ideas deserve time to breathe. Perhaps a beautiful object, a comfortable chair or a well chosen lamp can stay with us for years and become part of our story.

And perhaps that’s the secret of good design. It’s not about constantly buying something new.

It’s about creating a home you never want to leave.