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As a child, I lived in Kenya for a while. When we went to Mombasa, wafting breezes, crunchy white powder that sounds like snow underfoot, beaches bordered by many unseen blues, we had to take malaria medication. Beneath the gauzy beige of my mosquito net, I hallucinated. Sweat baubles on my body, I saw purple planets, star storms, surfed over seas of mercury and plunged into black holes. The next day I went scuba diving for the first time; I was nine. Beneath the hollow, thudding, dull echoes of the ocean, bubbles hurried upward; color explosions in fish darted; bright pink-hued sea anemones swayed as morays poked out their inquisitive gorgon heads. This was a real world, far, far stranger than my malaria med hallucinations ever were.
Ever once in a while, the reality layer of the world p