Kyara Blanc

When the first wafts of its vapor reached my nose, I was struck by a giddy, almost manic sensation—an impression still lingering in my memory like a moment of sudden enlightenment. “Diesel,” I muttered to myself. It was not diesel in the literal sense but an aroma so rich and shocking that it evoked the raw, primal force of burning incense infused with earth, rain, and every mineral that breathes from Earth’s crust. It was as though Malinau’s finest oud had been refracted through a prism, scattering scents of New Guinea’s aquamarine earthiness and the old 3000’s piercing clarity.

“Dieselicious,” I thought, as the incense-like fragrance continued to speak to me. The cinnamon spiciness of Malinau hinted at its provenance, but the berries and vanilla typical of its terroir were absent. Instead, it was as though fragments of New Guinea, Borneo, and Abuyog woods had been assembled into a mosaic, each sliver contributing to a picture of profound, smoky depth. It was a cloud of slow-burning incense, tenacious and heady, wrapping itself around you like a veil.

That moment marked a turning point in the history of Oud. Not only would the aromatic suddenly become sought-after all over the Western world, a new art of fragrance appreciation would emerge as a result. Western frag junkies would suddenly gather around an obscure essential oil and refine the art of dissecting notes like Japanese Kodo masters in ceremonial garb. The rest is history.

This perfume is dedicated to my love affair with Borneo Diesel, one of the most pivotal scents in the history of this aromatic. There is not a single ouddict, but they have either heard of it or refer to it as a unique subclass of the famed Malinau family. To me, it is the story of my life, written out in sweat at the warehouse, sifting through lots of ancient Tarakan harvests, then seeing those droplets turn into liquid gold as tensions ran high behind the pots at the Taiwanese distillery.

I cherish every moment of grief I went through to see this oil come to life.

The same struggle animates Kyara Blanc, designed as an olfactory crown that would showcase Borneo Diesel as the central jewel. But where Borneo Diesel is bold and base-leaning, Kyara Blanc is ethereal and transparent, an experience that unfolds in movements, like an olfactive symphony, written in oud oil.

It opens with the delicate clarity of Sichuan Vert, its subtle green buzz giving way to golden apple—fresh, crisp, and bright, a counterpoint to the oud’s depth. Mimosa and raspberry add a soft radiance, their floral and fruity notes weaving a tapestry of brightness that almost seems to float atop the composition.

Then the whites… The pristine glow of Sambac jasmine, the cool, rooty pull of orris, meditative, and the minerally edge of Borneo Diesel, bittersweet like a fine Kynam statue. Unlike anything else, the Diesel binds the fragrance into a cohesive cacophony, tortured into harmony by the perfumer’s derangement. Its smoky, agarwoody richness is deepened by the grounding bitterness of Keemun tea. Ylang-ylang softens the edges with its tropical charm, while plumeria adds a light, almost airy touch. I intend for you to get high as you inhale this.

What sets Kyara Blanc apart is not its individual notes (scent pyramid, anyone?) but the way they coalesce to create an olfactory cradle for my lovechild (BD). It is not a perfume to be deconstructed but one to be experienced, almost like a spiritual state. The mighty musk, silent and powerful, holds everything in place, amplifying each element without drawing attention to itself. (“Did you know I was with you all along since day one?”) Ambergris hums in the background, like the spermwhale in the depths, a silent force lending timeless quality. It isn’t about the oud alone but the way the oud transfixes these elements to create something transcendent. Like Kynam itself.