Canggu
Sometime in January, during a sound meditation session, I heard the song of whales and it reminded me of the ocean. I was reminded of my childhood and teenage years, and how I grew up being close to the water and how it always felt like home to me. I knew then, that I needed to go back to the ocean. It was where I needed to be, and it would give me the peace and healing that I needed.
As I paddled out to the surf the next morning after arriving, dawn was just breaking on my left, a gradual warm glow overtaking midnight's blue. I could see the sea mist in the air as they reflect the light of the rising sun, making it seem as though the air itself was glowing. The beach is mostly empty save for the sound of crashing waves. And there I was, the spray of saltwater on my face as my board rose and fell with the waves, the water around me a mirror of liquid gold.
At that moment, I said a silent whisper of gratitude and relief to myself, 'I am here.'
Being alone for the first time in years wasn't easy. Without distractions, all the hurt and loneliness I went through over the past few months came crashing down. It was made worse by the fact that my accommodation was right smack in the middle of the infamous Canggu shortcut - a small road connecting two major areas of Canggu, where all sorts of vehicles travel through. Traffic was bad, there were trucks, motorcycles and cars all squeezing through a small lane. I couldn't ride then, and walking was dangerous, so essentially, I was land locked. By the third day though, I knew that I had to bite the bullet somehow, so I rented a motorcycle, said my prayers to god, and just rode out into the shortcut. Perhaps that's how it is with life sometimes - we just have to say 'fuck it' and just do it. Things will always work out in the end.
Soon after, I got to know an amazing bunch of people from the guesthouse I was living in that made it feel like home. Most of them were in Bali for a month or two, with some relocating there for the longer term. I would often go surfing in the morning, and return home to chill in the pool; having conversations with whoever was around. In the evenings, I'll often walk along the beach, immersing myself in the breathtaking sunsets until the skies turn dark. Sometimes, the whole bunch would hang out for dinner, or go party at night - there's no lack of parties in Canggu, that's for sure.
Over here though, I met some of the best people, and they remain some of my fondest memories.
Thank you for being my family during this short period of time.
One of the most beautiful moments I love experiencing over and over again is simply sitting out on the water with my board, waiting for the surf. In front of me lie the endless blue sky, and on my right, the sun is setting in a glorious fiery glow, its beauty reflected on the water like a fluid mirror. The gentle waves rock the board like a cradle and there is this silence, just the sound of water and nothing else - no thoughts, just.. being here, just.. being. Sea mist fills the horizon, you could see the glow shimmering in the air. I wish you could see what I see, it's a place where the soul feels free.
We took a boat out to an island last week, and we sat out back where five jet engines were torpedoing the boat forward. Needless to say, we were drenched. But as the sea spray created by the boat speeding through the water refracted the evening light, I had momentary glimpses of a perfect rainbow forming. It reminded me of how, even in life's rockiest turbulence, there are still good things. There can still be rainbows, if we know where to look.
Riding out of the city center today towards the west into the countryside, the heavens started pouring midway. Over there, it's so quiet and peaceful. Walking across a churning river on a flimsy bamboo bridge held together by ropes, I landed myself in a vast rice field.
I was alone.
The whispering sound of the wind, the feeling of course grain on my fingers, the cool rain falling on my face, and as always surrounding me, the boundless and forgiving blue sky.
Dear heart, are you starting to feel full again?
We took a boat out to an island last week, and we sat out back where five jet engines were torpedoing the boat forward. Needless to say, we were drenched. But as the sea spray created by the boat speeding through the water refracted the evening light, I had momentary glimpses of a perfect rainbow forming. It reminded me of how, even in life's rockiest turbulence, there are still good things. There can still be rainbows, if we know where to look.
Riding out of the city center today towards the west into the countryside, the heavens started pouring midway. Over there, it's so quiet and peaceful. Walking across a churning river on a flimsy bamboo bridge held together by ropes, I landed myself in a vast rice field.
I was alone.
The whispering sound of the wind, the feeling of course grain on my fingers, the cool rain falling on my face, and as always surrounding me, the boundless and forgiving blue sky.
Dear heart, are you starting to feel full again?
Kedungu, Seaside Tribe
I stayed at a surf camp in Kedungu called Seaside Tribe for a week. It was probably here that I started to blend in. Besides the place being absolutely gorgeous, it was where my heart was at ease. It was a small village with only a few cafes and eateries, but it's what I realised I needed. Adi and Irene runs the place, and their little boy, Nowee, was always around.
My favourite memories here were hanging out with the local surf guys and getting to know them. We went out to sea fishing on a local Balinese boat one time, and then had a barbecue at the house where Adi grew up in. The food here was always amazing. Irene and the people at the camp made it feel like family, and they whipped up amazing dishes daily.
I had been hanging out with a new bunch of people at the surf camp after I arrived, and was sitting around the same table and sharing conversations with another guy for a few days before I embarrassingly said, 'I'm so sorry, but I still don't know your name yet', to which he answered nonchalantly, 'Well, does it matter?'
I was slightly taken aback, and was lost in my thoughts for awhile. There was truth in what he said though - did it matter? A name is just a name, and a place is simply a place. What matters is the connection we have to them that make them meaningful and real. And sometimes, if we are fortunate enough, the connection can last for a lifetime despite the short amount of time we spend together.
Over the past week after leaving Bali, I thought about the ocean often. My mind constantly drifted to the times when I was sitting out on the water looking across the endless blue horizon, and the wonderful clouds of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes schools of yellow and white striped coral fishes feed on the surface, and occasionally a sea turtle will pop up in the distance.
During those quiet moments with mother nature, I touched peace. During those sacred moments with the embracing blue sky, I found forgiveness. It was hard for me to leave at first, home had become so comfortable. But as the days went on, my memories of it began to fade, and my grip on my past life started to loosen. I felt my attachment wane day by day, and at the end of it all, I wondered what I was so afraid of losing in the first place.
I started to think about home and what it meant. Is it a person? A place? Home can mean so many things.
I find my sense of home in the people close to me, even dear friends whom I haven't seen for a while, and all the places I once had a connection with.
But no matter where I am, I'll always look up at the blue sky and observe the clouds wisp and wane. And in that moment, I'll find home in the present moment. In that instant, I remember to come home to wherever I am.
I was slightly taken aback, and was lost in my thoughts for awhile. There was truth in what he said though - did it matter? A name is just a name, and a place is simply a place. What matters is the connection we have to them that make them meaningful and real. And sometimes, if we are fortunate enough, the connection can last for a lifetime despite the short amount of time we spend together.
Over the past week after leaving Bali, I thought about the ocean often. My mind constantly drifted to the times when I was sitting out on the water looking across the endless blue horizon, and the wonderful clouds of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes schools of yellow and white striped coral fishes feed on the surface, and occasionally a sea turtle will pop up in the distance.
During those quiet moments with mother nature, I touched peace. During those sacred moments with the embracing blue sky, I found forgiveness. It was hard for me to leave at first, home had become so comfortable. But as the days went on, my memories of it began to fade, and my grip on my past life started to loosen. I felt my attachment wane day by day, and at the end of it all, I wondered what I was so afraid of losing in the first place.
I started to think about home and what it meant. Is it a person? A place? Home can mean so many things.
I find my sense of home in the people close to me, even dear friends whom I haven't seen for a while, and all the places I once had a connection with.
But no matter where I am, I'll always look up at the blue sky and observe the clouds wisp and wane. And in that moment, I'll find home in the present moment. In that instant, I remember to come home to wherever I am.
Uluwatu, Bukit Peninsula
It's a little surreal to know that the trip that I've waited for so long is about to come to an end.
How did two months go by so fast, I really have no idea.
All I know is that I tried to be present at every moment as much as I could.
I enjoyed the presence and conversations of the wonderful people whom I may never see again, the sunsets are seared in my memory, the rustle of the coconut trees from my room on the second floor, the cool seawater and the power of the waves, the view of the mountains on the horizon, watching sea turtles surface and coral fishes school around my surf board, a small plate of mango sticky rice everyday, riding my scooter on long stretches of wide open roads, the clouds so fluffy and round it felt like you could reach out and squeeze them, or just sitting on the bridge to watch the monkeys play with the ocean in the background - all the tiny pieces that came together and healed my wounds.
The last ten days I spent in Uluwatu really sealed the deal, and it was probably the place I enjoyed the most. The relaxed, surfer vibe of the place, the long winding roads, the friendliness of the people on the line up. I would ride almost daily through the villages and a wide, open road lined with half built and despondent resorts, to Belangan beach where the waves are long and more forgiving.
These last ten days, I grew so much in terms of surfing and my confidence. From barely catching any white water waves a month ago, to the point where I've stopped counting the number of green waves I'm catching - I just kept going out even when the waves were big and scary, day after day.
I'll always remember Adi telling me repeatedly - You have to know yourself. It doesn't matter what other people are doing, or how big the waves are. As long as you know yourself and your abilities, what you can or cannot do, you'll know what you need to do out there, and what waves you can surf.
And after a while when those words finally set in for me, I also realised how relevant it is to life in general. It's so important to know ourselves, and what we want and what we need, what we can do, our abilities and our limits. It doesn't matter what others think or what others are doing - we can find our own path and groove in this game we call life.
Thank you Bali.
Being here has opened the possibilities of life for me.
How did two months go by so fast, I really have no idea.
All I know is that I tried to be present at every moment as much as I could.
I enjoyed the presence and conversations of the wonderful people whom I may never see again, the sunsets are seared in my memory, the rustle of the coconut trees from my room on the second floor, the cool seawater and the power of the waves, the view of the mountains on the horizon, watching sea turtles surface and coral fishes school around my surf board, a small plate of mango sticky rice everyday, riding my scooter on long stretches of wide open roads, the clouds so fluffy and round it felt like you could reach out and squeeze them, or just sitting on the bridge to watch the monkeys play with the ocean in the background - all the tiny pieces that came together and healed my wounds.
The last ten days I spent in Uluwatu really sealed the deal, and it was probably the place I enjoyed the most. The relaxed, surfer vibe of the place, the long winding roads, the friendliness of the people on the line up. I would ride almost daily through the villages and a wide, open road lined with half built and despondent resorts, to Belangan beach where the waves are long and more forgiving.
These last ten days, I grew so much in terms of surfing and my confidence. From barely catching any white water waves a month ago, to the point where I've stopped counting the number of green waves I'm catching - I just kept going out even when the waves were big and scary, day after day.
I'll always remember Adi telling me repeatedly - You have to know yourself. It doesn't matter what other people are doing, or how big the waves are. As long as you know yourself and your abilities, what you can or cannot do, you'll know what you need to do out there, and what waves you can surf.
And after a while when those words finally set in for me, I also realised how relevant it is to life in general. It's so important to know ourselves, and what we want and what we need, what we can do, our abilities and our limits. It doesn't matter what others think or what others are doing - we can find our own path and groove in this game we call life.
Thank you Bali.
Being here has opened the possibilities of life for me.
Nusa Dua
For the last part of my trip, I had the privilege to spend it with a dear friend and someone I had always looked up to ever since I was a photographer. Though we've met about eight years ago, I've always knew her only as a photographer. This time round, I was privileged enough to get to know her as a friend and as a mother. I could witness upfront the love she had for her little one, and I was deeply touched.
Thank you Carol, for going out of your way to take me out for so many meals in the short two days that I was there. For taking the time to show me around Nusa Dua and Sanur, and for allowing me into your family and your lives.
I will always remember that serene afternoon when we kayaked in the rain as the storm clouds rolled in, the smiles on both of your faces, me and Carl lying in the gentle and still shallow water as the rain fell on our faces, and the conversations that we had.
I'm so grateful and thankful and feel to blessed to have gotten to know you all.
