One person's memory unfolds on stage.

The land actor Oh Ebada crossed in Australia was, at times, a land of giants where everything appeared impossibly large; the place the waves carried her to resembled a land of tiny people. 

And the resonance of a machine she heard in a hospital carries her into a fishbowl — or to the far edge of the universe, to Laputa. On the small screen of a phone, a tiny figure appears; on the live camera screen, a giant appears. 

Everyday objects — a milk carton, a blanket, a baguette, a tea bag, a balloon — become a ship crossing continents of imagination. 

Live sound effects fill the space, shadows and objects connect as if dancing, and the audience's gaze repeats its own zoom-in and zoom-out.

Sound pours down, breath whispers — the volume of what we hear swells and shrinks just as the size of the world does, zooming the audience's ears in and out. Everyone has, at some point, felt small before an enormous world, waged a war of the heart over the smallest things, and passed through the middle of a fantasy that defied all explanation. This story is a voyage toward you.