The hymn of the island is a soft mediation, the rice fields in constant flow.
As I write this I hear the Acadia, screaming in rhythm. It is my first day in Bali.
Small details, gestures, pieces make up a large familial community, where every breathing entity on the island is a part of something greater. There are small details in the way people interact, with warmth in the corners of their eyes, pressing the corners of their mouths into a grin every time I pass by or look in their direction. There are small details in the flowers, incense, beating of the drums, patterns, and offerings the people give up to their gods, in everyday morning offerings.
Feet are rooted bare into the tiles, as to feel the earth that is worshipped on, the home that is lived in.
And not to exaggerate, Bali is a romantic place. Everything is romanticized. It is as if everywhere I walk, a lover has prepared an evening, over and over again. Constant adoration of flowers, aroma, kindness, remind me of how every high school boy had failed in this department. The streets are here to teach self-love.
My first day off the plane and into the taxi, I missed a small detail of hopping into the drivers seat, only realizing once I was across from the wheel that Balinese drive on the opposite site of the road. Another small detailed missed when I asked the Balinese boy if he had a girlfriend, as he responded with “only one.” Hadn’t I know that many Balinese people are polygamous, wasn’t I more aware of this culture?
My first day arriving in Indonesia, I was unaware of why I was here. I had no idea the challenges that would come in the upcoming month, or the magic and power and joy the island would bring to me. Two months later I am still here, living in Bali, flying to Singapore in one week to extend my Visa and continue my journey through the Indonesian island as a solo traveler. How I got to this point will be continued in upcoming posts...