Latest news with #Valerian
New Straits Times
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Straits Times
"That night, we talked longer": Fiancée remembers guide lost in quake
RANAU: On the eve of the deadly Mount Kinabalu earthquake a decade ago, Jessica Veronica Sikta had an unusually long phone call with her fiancé, mountain guide Valerian Joannes. Normally, their conversations were brief as climbers needed rest and calls were kept short. But that night was different. "He said we could talk a bit longer because the kids (Tanjong Katong Primary School students) weren't asleep yet and they weren't starting the climb early the next day. "They planned to begin at the Walk the Torq (Via Ferrata) starting point, not go all the way to the summit. "I remember their laughter in the background. Happy, innocent sounds." It was the last time the couple spoke. Valerian was among the 18 people killed in the quake. Jessica, 35, now an endoscopy nurse specialist, said the conversation, filled with small comforts and familiar laughter, remained vivid in her memory. Ten years have passed since the 6.0-magnitude quake struck Mount Kinabalu, but the emotional aftershocks continue for those left behind. Jessica, who now works in Saudi Arabia, said the annual remembrance events bring both pain and strength. This year's commemoration had a powerful moment. Survivors Emyr Uzayr Mohamed Sadri and Prajesh Dhimant Patel, both 21, returned to summit Mount Kinabalu on May 22. "Seeing Emyr and Prajesh (on social media) reach the finish line, smiling and sharing their story, it moved me deeply. "It shows how far they've come and how those we lost continue to give us strength. "It's proof that love, memory and resilience live on. "Even without being present, Valerian and the others are still guiding us." Though a lot of time has passed, Jessica said her love for Valerian was unchanged and she prayed for him every day. The couple had planned to marry in November 2015. Valerian had even composed a Kadazan song, Igitanku Longon Nu (I Will Hold Your Hands), to sing to her on their wedding day. "I haven't moved on. I'm learning how to keep going. "I find strength in honouring his memory," Jessica said.
Yahoo
30-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
L.A. Affairs: I grew up on Disney princesses and fairy tales. Was I ready for my own happily ever after?
Marriage has been ingrained in me since I could form memories. That my purpose in life is to get married and have babies. I know this sounds old-fashioned and maybe that has something to do with the fact that I was born a girl in the Soviet Union to a Jewish family, but I've spent my life toggling between the tradition of marriage and the liberal Los Angeles ideologies I internalized. I've often found myself wondering if it is even possible to be a good writer, an artist and be married. At 11 years old, I was a flower girl at my cousin's wedding in Calabasas. I remember walking down the aisle with a tiny basket of rose petals, a pair of adult-sized breasts and a petrified look on my face, unable to smile even though I was a generally happy kid. The horse and carriage, the vintage bridal kimono, the perky orchids, the flash, flash, flash of cameras, the expectations on everyone's faces, the stressful night's sleep no amount of Valerian root could remedy — I wasn't sure if all this was for me. But I loved love. I had grown up on an unhealthy dose of Disney princesses and fairy tales and the idea that one day my prince will come. I memorized the entirety of the film "The Notebook." I would often fantasize about lying on my deathbed with the love of my life, hand in hand, like Noah and Allie. Read more: L.A. Affairs: Oh, how my body wanted my pickleball partner! Then he opened his big mouth In my teens, I flirted for hours with strangers on AIM. I hooked up with boys in the landscaping at the Century City mall after sharing a bowl of orange chicken at Panda Express. I had boyfriends and friends with benefits and cutouts of my idols: Victoria's Secret models like Adriana Lima taped to the walls of my childhood bedroom. I was fully liberated by the over-sexualized, MTV-obsessed early aughts. Then I lost my virginity to my high school sweetheart who soon became my boyfriend of seven long years. In a conversation I don't remember having, my cousin asks me when I think I will be married. I reply matter-of-factly: "By 25." She then scoffs and laughs in my face. "Yeah, right.' By the time I reached my mid-20s, I had broken up with my high school sweetheart whom I had little in common with other than the fact that we were supposed to get married. I was living alone in a studio apartment in Palms, sleeping in the same room as my refrigerator. I had stacks of books near my bed, a county government temp job in a downtown L.A. skyscraper and a stream of notifications from a dating app lighting up my apartment at odd hours of the night. Read more: L.A. Affairs: Men who don't understand L.A. won't understand me. What's a city girl to do? Marriage was beginning to seem impractical, uncool. I was living a life my immigrant parents deemed 'acceptable,' but what I really wanted was to be a writer, although I was too scared to even utter the fact that I was an artist back then. I honed my craft and spent my nights in adult-education writing classes. Meanwhile, I dated plenty. A musician. A botanist. An artist. An art writer. I fawned over a co-worker, a photographer a decade older than me. Eventually I met someone my own age: a graphic designer from work who I ended up dating for 4 ½ years. A year into my relationship with the graphic designer, marriage began to follow us around like a hungry dog. I was a bridesmaid in two different weddings, one week apart. I wore a grass-green, floor-length dress. I wore a lace, Champagne-colored floor-length dress. I got my face airbrushed. My lips lined. My eyes powdered. My cheeks contoured. My hair sprayed. I looked like a Russian mail-order bride. I was a reverse mail-order bride, born in Belarus, now an American. Actually, no one had ordered me. I had never been so unlike myself. My graphic designer boyfriend noticed. His knees buckled as he watched me dance the hora and attempt to catch the bouquet again and again. What's funny is that my own parents didn't get married until their mid-30s. My dad was divorced, and my mom was an old maid by Belarusian standards. But I was raised on their love story: the couple of life-altering years in which they got married after three months of dating, had me and moved to the U.S. Read more: L.A. Affairs: Nothing scared me more than intimacy — except L.A. freeways. But I had to face them both The graphic designer and I broke up in 2020. I was a mess, but it was clearer than ever what I needed to do: stop trying to control everything and just let life happen. A few months later, a kind, gentle, handsome, funny, optimistic, wildly creative man replied to one of my prompts on Hinge, agreeing that mayonnaise was indeed disgusting. Tyler and I fell in love and dated for four years. Together we lived through family tragedies, the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic, my grad school, his grad school, supporting each other's creative practices, quitting jobs, finding jobs, moving in together, adopting our sweet mutt Agnes. In the summer of 2024, he proposed at Crater Lake, surrounded by a swarm of dragonflies. At first, I felt weird talking to people about the engagement. Some of our friends were newly married, some were single by choice (or not), but most were in long-term monogamous relationships with no plans for marriage. I had never been happier, but I still housed the fear that getting married was too status quo, out of fashion, an uncool thing to do. My favorite writers certainly thought so with the most popular books that year being about divorce and self-actualization: "All Fours" by Miranda July, "Splinters" by Leslie Jamison and "Liars" by Sarah Manguso. The Paris Review once asked writer Helen Garner whether being a writer and marriage are generally compatible. She replied: 'They probably are, but it probably takes a lot of generosity and flexibility. If you're burdened by a classic idea of the artist as a figure to whom everything is owed and whose prerogatives are enormous and can never be challenged, forget it." In one of her more judgmental essays titled "Marrying Absurd,' Joan Didion chastises those who choose to get married in Las Vegas. She insists that they are doing it not out of convenience, but because of the fact that they don't know 'how to make the arrangements, how to do it 'right.'' How do you do it right, Joan? Read more: Joan Didion made her mark on L.A. Here are 10 places she knew and loved Tyler and I got married in January (nine years after the age I insisted to my cousin I would get married) in Las Vegas, by an Elvis impersonator singing 'Can't Help Falling in Love' at the famous Little White Chapel with three dozen of our closest friends and relatives in attendance, two weeks after L.A.'s devastating wildfires, and the week of Trump's inauguration. While I had my hair and makeup done in front of the hotel window overlooking the faux Eiffel Tower, with the Bellagio fountain going off every 30 minutes, I was weepy. But not because of the usual suspects: cold feet or the last-minute cancellations or the eczema reappearing after years of dormancy on my arms or the lack of sleep, although I did forget to pack some Valerian root. At some point, I had convinced myself that getting married was uncool, not what an artist does, but here I was doing it. In fact, I was marrying the man who supported my creative pursuits the most. I had changed my mind about marriage yet again. It's a symbol of hope in a hopeless world, a sacred pact between two people, and it can be whatever the hell you want it to be. And yes, it might not work out, but also, it might. Maybe the question isn't: Does marriage make you less of an artist? Maybe the question is: Who gets to be an artist anyway? The author is a freelance writer from Los Angeles. She's on Instagram: @druzova_. L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@ You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here. Sign up for The Wild newsletter to get weekly insider tips on the best of our beaches, trails, parks, deserts, forests and mountains. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
30-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
L.A. Affairs: I grew up on Disney princesses and fairy tales. Was I ready for my own happily ever after?
Marriage has been ingrained in me since I could form memories. That my purpose in life is to get married and have babies. I know this sounds old-fashioned and maybe that has something to do with the fact that I was born a girl in the Soviet Union to a Jewish family, but I've spent my life toggling between the tradition of marriage and the liberal Los Angeles ideologies I internalized. I've often found myself wondering if it is even possible to be a good writer, an artist and be married. At 11 years old, I was a flower girl at my cousin's wedding in Calabasas. I remember walking down the aisle with a tiny basket of rose petals, a pair of adult-sized breasts and a petrified look on my face, unable to smile even though I was a generally happy kid. The horse and carriage, the vintage bridal kimono, the perky orchids, the flash, flash, flash of cameras, the expectations on everyone's faces, the stressful night's sleep no amount of Valerian root could remedy — I wasn't sure if all this was for me. But I loved love. I had grown up on an unhealthy dose of Disney princesses and fairy tales and the idea that one day my prince will come. I memorized the entirety of the film 'The Notebook.' I would often fantasize about lying on my deathbed with the love of my life, hand in hand, like Noah and Allie. In my teens, I flirted for hours with strangers on AIM. I hooked up with boys in the landscaping at the Century City mall after sharing a bowl of orange chicken at Panda Express. I had boyfriends and friends with benefits and cutouts of my idols: Victoria's Secret models like Adriana Lima taped to the walls of my childhood bedroom. I was fully liberated by the over-sexualized, MTV-obsessed early aughts. Then I lost my virginity to my high school sweetheart who soon became my boyfriend of seven long years. In a conversation I don't remember having, my cousin asks me when I think I will be married. I reply matter-of-factly: 'By 25.' She then scoffs and laughs in my face. 'Yeah, right.' By the time I reached my mid-20s, I had broken up with my high school sweetheart whom I had little in common with other than the fact that we were supposed to get married. I was living alone in a studio apartment in Palms, sleeping in the same room as my refrigerator. I had stacks of books near my bed, a county government temp job in a downtown L.A. skyscraper and a stream of notifications from a dating app lighting up my apartment at odd hours of the night. Marriage was beginning to seem impractical, uncool. I was living a life my immigrant parents deemed 'acceptable,' but what I really wanted was to be a writer, although I was too scared to even utter the fact that I was an artist back then. I honed my craft and spent my nights in adult-education writing classes. Meanwhile, I dated plenty. A musician. A botanist. An artist. An art writer. I fawned over a co-worker, a photographer a decade older than me. Eventually I met someone my own age: a graphic designer from work who I ended up dating for 4 ½ years. A year into my relationship with the graphic designer, marriage began to follow us around like a hungry dog. I was a bridesmaid in two different weddings, one week apart. I wore a grass-green, floor-length dress. I wore a lace, Champagne-colored floor-length dress. I got my face airbrushed. My lips lined. My eyes powdered. My cheeks contoured. My hair sprayed. I looked like a Russian mail-order bride. I was a reverse mail-order bride, born in Belarus, now an American. Actually, no one had ordered me. I had never been so unlike myself. My graphic designer boyfriend noticed. His knees buckled as he watched me dance the hora and attempt to catch the bouquet again and again. What's funny is that my own parents didn't get married until their mid-30s. My dad was divorced, and my mom was an old maid by Belarusian standards. But I was raised on their love story: the couple of life-altering years in which they got married after three months of dating, had me and moved to the U.S. The graphic designer and I broke up in 2020. I was a mess, but it was clearer than ever what I needed to do: stop trying to control everything and just let life happen. A few months later, a kind, gentle, handsome, funny, optimistic, wildly creative man replied to one of my prompts on Hinge, agreeing that mayonnaise was indeed disgusting. Tyler and I fell in love and dated for four years. Together we lived through family tragedies, the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic, my grad school, his grad school, supporting each other's creative practices, quitting jobs, finding jobs, moving in together, adopting our sweet mutt Agnes. In the summer of 2024, he proposed at Crater Lake, surrounded by a swarm of dragonflies. At first, I felt weird talking to people about the engagement. Some of our friends were newly married, some were single by choice (or not), but most were in long-term monogamous relationships with no plans for marriage. I had never been happier, but I still housed the fear that getting married was too status quo, out of fashion, an uncool thing to do. My favorite writers certainly thought so with the most popular books that year being about divorce and self-actualization: 'All Fours' by Miranda July, 'Splinters' by Leslie Jamison and 'Liars' by Sarah Manguso. The Paris Review once asked writer Helen Garner whether being a writer and marriage are generally compatible. She replied: 'They probably are, but it probably takes a lot of generosity and flexibility. If you're burdened by a classic idea of the artist as a figure to whom everything is owed and whose prerogatives are enormous and can never be challenged, forget it.' In one of her more judgmental essays titled 'Marrying Absurd,' Joan Didion chastises those who choose to get married in Las Vegas. She insists that they are doing it not out of convenience, but because of the fact that they don't know 'how to make the arrangements, how to do it 'right.'' How do you do it right, Joan? Tyler and I got married in January (nine years after the age I insisted to my cousin I would get married) in Las Vegas, by an Elvis impersonator singing 'Can't Help Falling in Love' at the famous Little White Chapel with three dozen of our closest friends and relatives in attendance, two weeks after L.A.'s devastating wildfires, and the week of Trump's inauguration. While I had my hair and makeup done in front of the hotel window overlooking the faux Eiffel Tower, with the Bellagio fountain going off every 30 minutes, I was weepy. But not because of the usual suspects: cold feet or the last-minute cancellations or the eczema reappearing after years of dormancy on my arms or the lack of sleep, although I did forget to pack some Valerian root. At some point, I had convinced myself that getting married was uncool, not what an artist does, but here I was doing it. In fact, I was marrying the man who supported my creative pursuits the most. I had changed my mind about marriage yet again. It's a symbol of hope in a hopeless world, a sacred pact between two people, and it can be whatever the hell you want it to be. And yes, it might not work out, but also, it might. Maybe the question isn't: Does marriage make you less of an artist? Maybe the question is: Who gets to be an artist anyway? The author is a freelance writer from Los Angeles. She's on Instagram: @druzova_. L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@ You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Business Insider
08-05-2025
- Business
- Business Insider
This new Palantir-alumni-founded startup wants to help governments and companies control their data
Managing sensitive data across borders can be tricky. Valarian cofounders Max Buchan and Josh McLaughlin experienced that firsthand after working at crypto company CoinShares and defense tech giant Palantir, respectively. Their company, which provides data protection and management, has emerged from stealth with $7 million in additional funding, bringing its seed round to $20 million raised. National security-focused firm Scout Ventures and Artis Ventures led the round. Gokul Rajaram, a board member of Pinterest and Coinbase, also participated in the fundraise. CEO Max Buchan said the idea for Valarian came from thinking about how easily sensitive data can end up in the wrong hands. The startup's solution is ACRA, Valerian's platform that keeps data separated and tightly controlled, even when it's stored in the cloud or used by other apps. A company can use ACRA to ingest internal communications across digital platforms and retain them securely in a given domain for compliance and record-keeping purposes, for example. Buchan founded the London-based startup in 2020, and cofounder and chief operating officer McLaughlin joined in 2023. McLaughlin previously served as a ranger in the US Army and worked in business development at Palantir in Qatar, where he led the opening of the defense tech giant's Doha office. Buchan met McLaughlin in Doha and was introduced to his now cofounder through another national security-focused venture capitalist. With the new funding, Valerian plans to expand into defense, a sector that has seen a frenzy of venture investment in the months since Trump's return to office. This follows interest from its first government customer in late 2024. The company declined to disclose the client. "The government angle within the US was, 'hey, can you expand this ACRA platform to have relevance to national sovereignty?'" Buchan said. As it does with enterprise clients, Valerian's ACRA can also ingest privileged governmental communication from Signal or WhatsApp, for example, and keep it secure in a specific territory. Defense-focused investor Cody Huggins, a partner at Scout Ventures and a former ranger instructor who co-led the firm's investment in Valarian, became interested in the startup's potential to sell to the US and its allies. For this reason, Huggins backed Valarian, marking Scout Ventures' first investment in a company headquartered outside the US or Canada. "From where Valarian sits, they're positioned very well where they can sell in Europe — and they can sell across the globe — because they're a European company," Huggins told BI. "But they also can absolutely sell in the US." Huggins was also compelled by the company's stickiness with both commercial and government clients, which he said could provide some cushion against being solely defense-focused, which is "a pretty challenging space to invest in," Huggins added. Dual use — a term used in defense tech to describe a company's business application in both enterprises and governments — is becoming increasingly common among national security-focused companies looking to hedge against budget cuts to the Department of Defense and the often finicky government contracting and procurement process. Palantir, one of the most prominent dual-use examples, has both a key government business and a growing healthcare vertical. Scale AI, a startup that provides training data to companies like OpenAI, inked a deal with the Defense Department in March. Valarian competes with security companies largely in the commercial sector. Veriti, which was backed by Insight Partners and founded by Israel intelligence veterans, has its own security posture management platform. Varonis Systems, a publicly traded company, makes a data management security platform. Buchan is hoping to court government customers in the US and beyond. "We have a big US presence, but we're also able to cater to this incredibly increasing European demand," he said, "which is massive defense spending increases across continental Europe and other NATO countries."
Yahoo
23-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Natural Fashion Alchemy from California Cloth Foundry and Gaia Herbs' Wear Your Wellness collaboration
LOS ANGELES, April 22, 2025 (GLOBE NEWSWIRE) -- California Cloth Foundry, a pioneer of natural fashion, is thrilled to announce their second collaboration with Gaia Herbs, a leader in organic medicinals. Together they have created a first-of-its-kind Sleep Set, in artisanal poppy, redefining luxury as an experience of holistic health to Wear Your Wellness™. A Media Snippet accompanying this announcement is available by clicking on this link. Following the success of their first collaboration, the Organic Black Elderberry Hoodie, as seen on Gisele*, this sleep set is destined to become a Healthy Wardrobe staple. California Cloth Foundry and Gaia Herbs, both known for their steadfast use of only natural and non-toxic ingredients, wrap the wearer in wellness. This apparel partnership is made by CCF, in Collaboration with Nature, and infused with Gaia Herbs' botanicals, highlighting the potential for clothing to be a medicinal tool for a holistic healthy lifestyle. Their new project, the Valerian Sleep Set, is dyed with Gaia-Grown™ USDA certified organic Valerian and California Poppy botanicals traditionally used for relaxation and sleep support and found in Gaia Herbs' sleep formulas. This extra-soft set is made from California Cloth Foundry's (CCF) USDA Organic and unbleached cotton jersey fabric. After concept, then cutting & sewing in Los Angeles, CCF made a number of potent large-batch tea baths with Gaia Herbs' dried Valerian and California Poppy in order to create this artisanal hue. Adjusting for warmth and depth of color, they added magical mineral mordants and USDA certified regenerative-grown organic marigolds, then dyed and printed this limited edition of two hundred sets with the botanical liquid reduction. Because our skin absorbs what we put on it, CCF chooses only healthy natural ingredients. All of their fabrics, colors and textile treatments are always non-toxic, petrochemical-free, clean and green. Valerian and California Poppy, celebrated for their healing properties and a staple in traditional medicine, are at the heart of this creation. Infusing California Cloth Foundry-made fabric with Gaia Herbs soothes the soul and our nervous system with their medicinal properties**. So wrap yourself in wellness with a naturally sustainable Valerian Sleep Set from California Cloth Foundry x Gaia Herbs, and let the power of nature transform your wellbeing inside and out. About Gaia Herbs®Gaia Herbs is an herbal supplements company who grows most of their own herbs on their 270+ acres of Regenerative Organic Certified™ land in Western North Carolina. Anything they don't grow themselves, they source from partners around the world who share their high standards. Their team of experts including herbalists, farmers, sourcing partners, scientists, and doctors are dedicated to crafting the finest herbal supplements on earth. About California Cloth Foundry®California Cloth Foundry coined the phrase natural fashion to describe their alchemy in regenerative textiles and apparel. Based in California, their purpose is to push the boundaries of fashion, by wrapping everyone in nature and proving that it is fully possible to make A Healthy Wardrobe® In Collaboration with Nature® solely from plants, minerals and proteins and without fossil fuels derived ingredients. CCF FounderLydia Wendt is the Founder and Design Director. From her 25+ years of industry expertise, California Cloth Foundry Inc was born. Cutting her teeth on New York's Fashion Industry; she attended the Fashion Institute of Technology before working on 7th Avenue for designers and brands including Tom Ford for Perry Ellis America, Calvin Klein, Bloomingdales, and Jones New York. Before founding CCF in 2014, she helped produce The Fibershed x North Face Backyard Project and was a member of the faculty of the Academy of Art University's internationally recognized fashion department, where she taught graduate and undergraduate courses in sustainable fashion and textile design. Her past work informs and guides CCF's design process, values and mission: to reverse fashion's 'race to the bottom' of apparel quality, health, ethics, and environment by reformulating its supply chain green; in collaboration with nature for the health of the planet, and the beauty that natural fashion & textiles contribute to it, and the future of her two daughters. lydia@ * 'Gisele Bündchen looks relaxed...' in our Gaia Herbs Elderberry Hoodie, can be seen in the DailyMail by Alesia Stanford, Feb.16.2024 photo ©Backgrid/MEGA** These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. These products are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any in to access your portfolio
