A lot of my origins are a mystery to me. Much of the why and the how of my early years have been hidden from me despite my best attempts at finding out. The stories I have been told and the photos have seen don’t tell the same story with contradictions and inaccuracies everywhere. Even my parentage is questionable at this stage.
Around the age of 5 years old I was removed from Bali by my mother and separated from my cousins, whom I considered my older brothers and sister, for the decades since. Over the years I would return for visits quite regularly but the damaging effects of toxic family politics saw me not return to Bali for the last decade or so. A lot has happened since I left Bali as a child and not much of it was joyful or carefree.
My life diverted in ways quite unexpected and instead of the promise of a tropical utopia, I had a life on the edges of society in the west. Despite the hardships my experiences were culturally diverse and eventful. I had the privileges associated with an Australian passport and a first world income. For these I have gratitude.
Dirty mirrors
In 2020, with the social catastrophe that was Covid19 and the ensuing relentless isolations and lockdowns, I found myself in despair and on the verge of self destruction.
My love-hate relationship with Sydney and Australia had finally tipped the scales and my existence had devolved into the endless hamster-wheel of work and the saturday morning reprieve of life drawing my only social interaction.
So I decided that with nothing to lose but a first world income, I would finally return to Bali and rebuild myself to be the person I should be and have a life beyond meeting meetings and corporate ego-play.
After weeks of relentlessly juggling, exhaustion induced illness, packing and planning, the final song of Sydney played and my journey began.
Landing in Bali in secrecy I was greeted by a familiar face almost 20 years older than I last saw it in person, shots of arak and an immediate trip to the closest Warung Bakso still open. The stress and prolonged sleeplessness would leave me feeling detached for days to come. Over the course of the next week I would meet again my older brothers (cousins) and discover our bond is far from lost. This is the beauty of the Balinese people. Weeks, months, years and even decades can pass and you will find their heart still open to you as if no time has passed at all.
As for the rest though, only time tell but I hope for the best as I re-establish, re-discover and re-invent what it is to be me.