In Bahasa Malayu, the word for coral is karang; while the verb mengarang derived from it, means to compose, to arrange, to weave and to create. After looking at corals closely under and above water for months, I start to get it: it’s the shape of coral that describes structure, classification and gradual formation, the porousness communicates endurance, and the unfathomable otherness of marine creature, the dim and yet wild colors, suggest some sort of fictional fabrication — I am composing a language with corals, I am creating a feral literacy. I arrange the relationship among shape, sound and meaning, I weave a web that preys on name, thing, soul.

1. Kerana kabus puncak gunung itu berbalam.

2. Kita berhat di tempat yang beragin.

3. Ia masih muda belia.

4. Bendera yang basah itu terkelepai dari tiang.

5. Sejarah tidak akan berandur kembali.

6. Api itu sekejap memarak sekejap malap.

7. Jangan marah kiranya saya telah lupar.

   1. Because of the mist, the peak of the mountain is blurry.

   2. We rest at a place that’s windy.

   3. He is still young.

   4. The soaked flag is draped over the flagpole.

   5. History will not go backwards.

   6. The fire is glaring at a moment, dim at a moment.

   7. If I ever forget, please don’t be angry.

1. 因为有雾，远处的山峰模糊不清。

2. 我们在有风的地方休息。

3. 他还很年轻。

4. 潮湿的旗子在旗杆上垂悬着。

5. 历史是不会倒退的。

6. 火一会儿闪亮，一会儿黯淡。

7. 假如我忘记了，请别生气。