From the Ancestral Hill
Where memory is soil, and every silence remembers a name.
These are the stories I carry from the hill that raised me — echoes of my father’s resilience, my mother’s quiet strength, and the culture stitched into our bones. In this space, I honour their legacy, their loss, and the sacred traditions that shaped the language of my life.
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Nuhu Ponontogon – The Untold Hill That Held My Childhood
There are places that raise you—not just in height, but in spirit. Nuhu Ponontogon, the hill my father called home, was one such place.…
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How Being Kadazan Shaped My Voice as a Writer
Before I ever called myself a writer, I carried a Kadazan writing voice — shaped by hills, harvests, and the ache of memory. Kadazandusun…
English