The first thing I noticed was the scooters. I wasn’t startled, as most people are, by the way the three traffic lanes mingle into one, with the scooters and cars and trucks meshing across the pavement through my blurry eyes. I was startled by how crowded it was, and unimpressed by the 45 minute drive from Denpasar, through Kuta, to Canggu at 8 PM. Massive discount shops and dirty signs, the smell of petrol and thickness of the air.
The last time I had exited the international terminal was in June 2016. I remembered the massive room, like an old hotel lobby, that visitors must walk across to get their 30-day Visa on Arrival.
This time, though, it’s different. I march to the Indonesian passport and KITAS line and they ask me how long I’m staying. I tell them I’m here until August, and confused, they double check my passport. Last time, I walked nervously through to baggage claim, unsure how I was going to find Jazz in the airport. He surprised me right next to me, just as I was getting my phone out to text him. We waited for my bag and then walked out to meet the hotel driver together, both excited and a little bit apprehensive for our first adventure together.
This time, I spoke fluently in Bahasa to the passport control, saying I am a researcher working here for a year, and thank you, have a nice night, and then walked on to collect my bag. I texted Pak Ketut, my teman and driver who was already waiting for me outside. He gave me a big smile from amidst all the hotel staff waving name cards, and I returned it, tired from my long journey.
We got back to my villa around 9:30 PM. I unlocked the door to find the lights weren’t working because the electricity had run out. Sweet Ketut said he would drive me to the market to pay for more. On the third IndoMaret, they allowed me to buy electricity–I gave them the code for each electric meter, top floor and bottom, and paid them for credit, receiving in return, two 16-number long codes to type into the meters. We got back to the house, I took the hidden key from behind the temple, unlocked the little security room, and typed in the codes. Said goodbye to Ketut and terima kasih, and then went to my room. Showered, but the hot water hadn’t kicked in from the electricity yet, so I didn’t wash my hair. Started to unpack because it was only about 4 PM in The Hague so I wasn’t sleepy, but then I got weary of moving around and went to bed. I tossed and turned until 3 and then finally fell asleep.
I knew it wasn’t going to be good even before it hit me. I was back in my home–and whether that be in paradise or Boston, it was time to adjust to normal life. And this home didn’t have the perks of family coziness or familiarity.
It wasn’t even that I had to adjust to the responsibility of work and bills. It was that I knew in my heart that nothing would feel the same as when I first got here. I knew exactly what I was coming back to: I had groups of friends, a solid home with a small pool, and I knew which restaurants had the best smoothie bowls, which yoga studios had my favorite teachers. And this dreaded stability is inevitable–either move around forever or get used to it.
The first scooter ride
The first morning scooter ride under the warm Bali winter sun was enough. Enough to confirm why I was here, that I wanted to be here, and that I was meant to be here. The wind in my hair didn’t uplift my mood as high as when I began here (after all, I was wearing a helmet) but it did enough to remind me:
Don’t forget how badly you once wanted what you have now.
There was a time when I was praying, visualizing, hoping, manifesting, dreaming and wishing with all my might to be where I am currently. I will never stop dreaming about all that I want to accomplish, hoping for success, and creating it, more and more, each month, but in the present, I will acknowledge that I am exactly in the position that I had once lusted after.
x
January 14, 2018