Written July 12, 2018.

(2022 – in memory of Dede’s grandmother, Nenek of the mountains. Rest in soft clouds now).

Before I explode in gusto and borderline maniacal fervour, I must once again address this – I am not a travel blogger/vlogger/photographer.

My authority in feeling as if I deserve to write of my experiences stem from a very specific qualification – I have incredibly shit memory (and I have suspicions that I’m narcissistic too, but let’s gently put that aside). And so, I write and reflect constantly because I cherish what I’ve gone through. I just wish I remembered more so I can cherish more. In fact, as I flip through my written journal, there are hastily scribbled notes written with most urgency — as if forgetting the moment would destroy my very existence.

E.g: “8th of July 2018 – This is the first slice of bread I’ve enjoyed in two years”. God forbid I forget that.

So, forgive me if I ever write with laces of arrogance – that is never my intention.

We are imperfect people whose instincts collide (no, please don’t scoff yet). At times, continuously consumed by resentment, greed, lust or whatever poison you prefer – but the intention to live lovingly and kindly, seeking refuge in the thought that everyone is the same, suffering together to love one another, that’s how we travel meaningfully – or as I think of it, return ‘home’ (now you may scoff). I bullshitted all through my life, and I am now bullshitted out. I no longer stand for waiting and talking. I feel my time running short, I feel the game is up. I want to run, and run triumphantly. Regardless if I planned my sprint, or if I was just dropped by a random chopper, Schwarzenegger style in the midst of foliage. I just need to run around.

My friend once assured me (rather ominously): “To live life is a person that has seen through the material and mechanical world and doesn’t commit suicide”.

I like that thought.

A kind of faith is implied there, faith in something. I’m not too sure what that something is, to be honest – could suspiciously, very hippiesquely be love – but I know I have a heck ton of it.

11th January 2018

Cap in mouth, I sat in front of my apartment wardrobe in full concentration, red marker pen in hand. I listed out the places I wanted to see in the year. The Great Barrier Reef, Whitsunday Islands, Mt. Aoraki, Kauai Highlands… and somewhere down the list, Bali.

Life knows to be a comic. After intense contemplation (a total five seconds), I decided that I’ll take Bali out of the list. I’ve visited the island four years ago for work. I was itching to taste places I’ve never stepped foot in before. Somewhere in the midst of hopping on the fourth plane ride of the month (humblebrag?), my friend Brigida informs me via Facebook messenger that my plane ticket to Denpasar was purchased.

Okay, universe.

26th June 2018

I couldn’t sleep a wink. Wouldn’t put it down to excitement – rather a gnawing panic that I would miss my flight because I’m a blithering idiot. I’ve never been more unorganized for travels before in my life. Granted, I’ve been hopping through Brunei and Malaysia in the last two weeks. I’ve barely had time to declutter my thoughts and reorganize my underwear. For all I know, there’s a mouse that’s been hitchhiking with me in my luggage, stomach full of lace. The sun graciously loomed over the cirrus clouds, taking my breath away. I came to a realization that I’ve never witness a sunrise aboard a flight in the last two years since moving to Melbourne. Life is so generous in sharing its beauty. Peeking through the clouds, I saw the glorious Agung and Batur. Kings of the island, receiving us graciously.

I’ve returned to the island of the Gods.

Indonesia waits for no one. We barely had time to remove our winter jackets unto tank tops before we were immediately thrown into the midst of it all, complete with a Gado-gado push cart passing us by.

There were children knocking on the car windows selling local crackers, alongside the Balinese penjors which flocked the streets – an offering to Hyang Giri Pati, the God of the Mountain. The curved part symbolizing the home of the Gods, Mount Agung, the highest volcano on the island. It would be hilarious if the volcano erupted while I was frolicking stupidly on the island.

Eva, the Jakartanian promptly swats away Dede, the only local Balinese in our group (she so very lovingly chucked away my Bali book guides just minutes earlier) and took us to her favorite Nasi Pedas stall by Ibu Andika, which was placed alarmingly too close to the main road. As a budding doctor, I can see Dede’s darting eyes say: “Hmm, a bit ambitious, a bit too flavourful, a bit of a death wish”.

To be honest, for the entire trip – only once did I not question the hygiene of my food, and that was when I was wolfing down fresh grapes. My orders were made with one eye closed, the other squinting and twitching as I observed the art of making fried rice with a cigarette dancing in mouth. Where the hell was the tap? Er, excuse, did a bit of ash and booger just fall into that wok? Of course, I brought it upon myself. The rice won’t, of its volition, kick down my front door, shine a flashlight in my eyes as I sleep, shove me to the floor and jam itself down my throat. I deserved (the total 8 plates of fried rice and) everything I asked for. But never have I had such phenomenal and devastatingly cheap street food. I ate myself almost into hyperventilation and shame.

Now, that I’ve politely justified my weight gain during the trip, we can move on.

‘Homeward’ we went, visiting Dede’s Resort, Umadhatu that is nestled sweetly in Tabanan, South West of Bali to discuss sustainable business and plastic pollution with her uncle there. As I said, Indonesia waits for no one. Before I even had time to sing the first verse of Bengawan Solo and pretend I was in a 60s movie scene, rice terraces graced the highlands right by the resorts, and traditional Balinese music flavored the background. At once I felt like Elizabeth from Eat, Pray, Love. Fine, maybe not the sexy Brazillian man part (yet) – but perhaps I will find my spiritual awakening here.

Not that day though. That day I visited my first black beach and explored five new funky ways to eat bananas. The Bananaland located close to the resort boasts all of the varieties of bananas on the planet. We trampled in pitch black, past barking dogs and flocks of migratory egrets, complete with the biggest torch light you ever laid your eyes on. No joke. I felt like the fucking banana queen of the world. Might have been overdosing on potassium at that point.

11.48 p.m: First suspicious plate of fried rice in Bali. 10/10 would have again.

27th June 2018

I learned a lot today. Not that I was clueless about the island, excuse you very much. Prior to coming, I did do some homework. Alright, so I only read Elizabeth’s final chapter in Eat Pray Love, and a half-hearted skim through Lonelyplanet’s Bali Guide – but I had an idea of how the society functioned. The oldest child in any family unit is called Wayan, followed by Made, Nyoman and fourth child as Ketut, before the names are recycled again in the same arrangement. For some reason, I find comfort in this matrix. It’s as if everyone on the island knows exactly where he or she belongs, oriented within an intangible map which plots where you are spiritually and mentally. The reflection to family on Earth, and their constant cycle of rituals and offerings balances their existence. I adore it. I aspire for it.

We made our way to Amed for our dives. Dede was an expert at driving these highlands. I can describe it poetically if you wish: there exists a mechanical harmony, drivers weaving through the streets as if they’re pulled by expert strings, each car a daring millimeter away from each other. I can also tell you the truth: they’re all roaring maniacs that enjoy flirting death. And for some overwhelming reason, I thoroughly did too.

Seeing the lineup of oxygen tanks in Bali Reef Divers was comforting. Purposeful. And the dives were some of the best I’ve had, chockful of looming coral fans and neon colored marine life. I enjoyed the nice smashing of my legs onto coral shores too.

The day was yet to conclude – we made our way to Sunset Point, across Mt. Agung to watch the sun set behind the volcano. So many things scribbled unto my journal at this point – mostly undecipherable which I attribute to a particularly tasty Long Island, and an intoxicating amount of fresh air.

The sunset was beautiful. I was in the moment. I was alive. I was proud to be alive. I was proud of the girls for being so vibrantly and unforgivingly alive.

10:34 p.m.: Third suspicious plate of fried rice in Bali. 10/10 would have again.

28th June 2018

I awoke this morning with the realization that I’ve left a single dragon fruit in the car for two days straight. Dede made sure we all had our vitagen (doctor’s orders), followed with an odd arrangement of breakfast – mushroom soup, spicy cup noodles, banana fritters and Kusuka crackers. Sure Dede, I bet the vitagen outbalances the rest of the mess (!). The dragonfruit was still lovely. We made our way for the day’s dives and I saw a small huff of smoke coming out of the volcano across the resort. Must be a regular thing.

The first wreck dive I’ve had, and I’ve no regrets doing it in Tulamben. I’ve never seen the seabed as clear as day – I felt like I was in a rock pool at Cape Schanck, Victoria. I half-expected my dive buddy Jason to appear out of nowhere and yell “Oi, oi!” at me, brandishing a finger manically. The ocean is not the same without my jolly Australians, but such is life.

We all dive for different reasons. Some to challenge their mental strength. Some for pure love of marine-life. Some, well, just cuz.

The ethereal silence and sublimity is why I dive. I sink among the marine life, and geological structures. But that humbling feeling, that diminishing significance… amongst the Buddhist statues of Tulamben drop off, past the shrines and Temples… No comparison. It’s my biggest weakness. The ocean is my playground. Nothing could’ve ruined the dive. I was utterly content and happy. Except of course, we resurfaced to find out Agung actually did erupt while I was busy trying to make smoke rings underwater.

Ok, universe.

Relax.

Slightly outdoing yourself now.

The volcano was now surrounded by layers of ash. Flights were immediately cancelled for the next two days out of precaution. I feared the worst scenarios, planning out alternate flight routes through Jakarta to return back to Melbourne. Naturally, I slurped my vitagen in panic. The moment was gorgeous, I must admit. I’ve never witnessed a geological formation in full active mode. It’s as rare as finding two different species of nudibranchs chase each other for no reason (which I actually did end up witnessing on the same dive – thanks for the small celebrations, Bali). The volcano grew angrier in the night.

11:45 p.m.: I had salted egg chicken and Penyet chicken with cheese (I know, mental – I was going into town! I witnessed an eruption!)

Calories have no causal relationship with lava spurts but who cares.

29th June 2018

I’m grateful to Dede. I love that I never planned for Bali, yet it is the most exquisitely laid out trip – full of emotions, spirituality and meaning. I love that I could fit into a pink Batik dress meant for a five-year-old at Krishna and was allowed a beautiful lunch by the beach with the girls. A passing woman sold us beads of necklaces and anklets, of which I placed on mine and watch Dede sweetly wrap hers around her ankle.

Did I also mention we live for danger?

Divers need pre-flight surface interval of 18 hours between their last multiple dives and a 300m elevation to avoid decompression sickness. For some reason, the Hobbit Town tucked away in the hilltops of Pedawa seemed as urgent as any place to visit. Granted we reached 500m safely beyond the interval mark, but I still felt wild the entire altitude ride.

The vivid paintwork of the area created a strong contrast against the green foliage. I was so confused – the coffee I was sipping and brown sugar chunks I was suckling were utterly Balinese, grown right there on the highlands. The gamelan music played along with the aroma, whilst the rugged woodwork in the area made me feel like I was in sweet 60s Indonesia. Except I’d look up and see “Bilbo’s Hut” scrawled on the little hobbit houses and feel completely displaced again. I feel like a Disney character, as if I was in a make-believe world, transcending beyond the physical make-believe world in front of me. I am not signing on. This new prism is fascinatingly disconnecting, but also soberly real. Reality is so disconcerting, but so much funnier than whatever my brain can think of. A Hollywood hobbit town in the middle of rural Indonesia. You’re kidding me, universe.

Buzzing with caffeine and bananas (again!), we left for Dede’s grandmother’s house. I wasn’t prepared to witness her aunt running out of the house to embrace her. None of us were. I felt everyone falling apart gently in the face of raw affection. Eva peered at me sadly from behind her glasses and told me she misses her grandmother. I suppose it’s the chilly atmosphere and the gamelan in the background again… everything felt softer, nostalgic. Dede, the budding doctor, sits atop the steps of her entrance and begins studying her relative’s conditions. Her fingers traced her grandmother’s pulse, her ears listening intently to her aunts breathing and chest falling. Her lips murmuring advices. I was touched deep in my heart.

Moments like this feel like puzzle pieces fitting and reconfiguring itself again. My consciousness clears itself out of the muck and raises its head as if to say “Ah, yes. This is what all the sacrifices are for”.

Life.

We trample and travel far from home and at times we forget our purpose, our core, our sacrifices. Sometimes we flip 360, and that’s absolutely okay. The ritual begins and repeats, our sweet innocence blurs out the sins we commit. And in the madness of it all, we get clear moments like this. Being smack right back to home.

Her grandmother allows us to depart with a sweet: “Will you always remember the old grandmother in the mountains?”

“We’ll be up in the clouds in about an hour”, announces Dede.

See what I mean about living dangerously?

And so we drove off again, with me furiously scribbling into my journal in the back, trying to capture all the emotions that just washed over me. We sang I Lived by One Republic in the car (naturally) and reached the Twin Lakes where I managed to kidnap a child in no less than 5 minutes of disembarking.

At one point, a cloud went right through me, making me feel like a Disney character once again. Life is so good.

It was the last night in Bali, so we made it worth. We picked up strawberries along the way (with Fidel driving like a madwoman) and stopped by food vendors to have suspicious food again. It was delicious, save for a carcass of a goat that was hung ominously by the stall sign.

30th June 2018

We stayed over at Umadhatu last night. Bintangs and the palpable buzz of freedom and living kept us light hearted all night, and the strawberries and coffee in the morning made me feel as if Mother Nature was coddling me in her maternal arms.

I fucking love you, mum.

Most days, in my carefully woven sanctuary and privacy, I surrender myself totally in ego and will before regaining traction in old patterns. Today I knew no reason to be in silent gratitude. In fact, I found myself sprawled on the floor with intoxicating contentment, trying to loudly express my gratitude to the universe through my pen and preparing breakfast for the girls. I’m thankful to witness all of this. I’m so thankful.

We dragged our sleepy selves to the local waterfall in the area. We had to complete the Bali tokens – of course I had to pose like a seasoned yogi under the tumulus water. I was lucky I didn’t fall flat on my face and smash my jaw. Now thatwould’ve been something to write in my journal.

In the midst of searching for a parking area, we stumbled upon Julian Yunitani Michiko’s house.

Now, as Dede pointed out for herself, it’s hard to not believe in something, a grander inner-workings when you’re on the island of Gods. Shit, this place is amazing.

For every action, there is equal and opposite reaction, right? From the macroscopic, to the microscopic. And so, it essentially works like this: everything we say, think and do serves as a cause that will, in the future, manifest as an effect. For example, if you get angry (cause), you might get punched in the chomper (kapow!) (effect).

What I’m saying is this: Everything is up to me. Everything.

Of course, I’m talking about my own life (I’m not about to tell you to brush your teeth or meditate in a cave) but you can apply this to yours too. And the reason why I’m word-vomiting at the moment is because Julie, the Japanese-Mauritian kindly offered refuge for our car in her garage for an hour, before we returned and had the most wonderful chat with her – upon which she was offered immediate hiring at Dede’s resort. She speaks five languages, worked in hospitality and was bored out of her mind looking for a job. And because of her kind gesture, she now has one.

Life works its fun sneaky ways around this island.

A sweet goodbye to Umadhatu was in order, before making our way to the SOS Orphan Children Village in Tulamben. I loved the place and its family strengthening values. There were twelve houses hosting SOS families, tended by a local mother. The orchard in the area provides fresh fruits and the ponds provide fresh fishes.

The world is a lonely place, but not here.

Not for these sweet orphans.

Picking up the yelping Tabean (also the sketched out dog in my journal above) marked the final leg of the Bali adventure.

We watched snakes and dragons swivel in the sky as kites by the beach, before parting ways. I wasn’t sure when I’ll be seeing them again. I will confess. At many points of this writing, I paused to question what the purpose of this writing was.

What will I think when I read this again, five years in the future?

But I came to the acceptance that by then, contact with these girls might be rare. That our children will look at the old photos and ask about them and where they are now.

And I’ll say one thing: It was with them that I had the best days of my life with.

So blessed is this life that we are given, and all the opportunities we are allowed to commit mistakes, to feel intensity, and to live humbly.