Hsien Min Toh

During my last reservist stint, in Ama Keng, that unmistakeable waft: like garbage and onions and liquid petroleum gas all mixed in one. We jerked our helmeted heads upward, and saw the spiky bombs. Durians. Two soldiers waded into the lallang and long spiky-grassed undergrowth, sweeping for fallen fruit. I remembered what my dad once told me, that durian trees knew when you were underneath...