Amazing how life works. Here I am on the brink of returning to my home in the States, returning to my family. And all this time without realizing or meaning to, I have been creating a family here. And now I am leaving them. The irony.
Yesterday, I had the honor of attending a family temple blessing ceremony. Putu invited me to be present as she considers me family. I consider her my Balinese sister, I am her American sister. Anyway Putu was worried that the temples wouldn't be finished before I left. She wanted me to be a part of this very spiritual and beautiful ceremony. So she has been working hard these past few weeks. And it was quite elaborate. It takes time to prepare all the offerings, decorate the temples, cook the food, build the yard up, etc. So I was very excited and a little nervous.
We were there for hours, as it is an intricate process. Finally after everyone helped prepare the temples and offerings, the village priest blessed them. Next there were a series of rituals performed and finally the family was blessed. To be a part of placing the dirt, to symbolically wash the grounds and to be blessed alongside the family (sitting in our sarongs with the eight year old guiding me as to which flower to hold above my head with each prayer) was powerful. It made me feel so special. I was happy and sad at the same time. Happy to have created this wonderful connection and sad to be leaving so soon.
Although two years does not seem that short of a time, it really is when you realize how long you have known your family. How long does it take to create new roots deep enough you consider them to be family? We often take our own family for granted. I know this. But when you are invited into a new one, it is a reminder as to how beautiful and precious family can be: the close bond, the understanding, the support, the unconditional love. It makes me appreciate all the people in my life, family and all.
I had no idea that a little over two years ago, I would be experiencing these feelings. But I now know Bali will always be a part of my life. I will return and be present with this sweet corner of the world. What a gift.
Funny that I have created this extended family across the globe. I just was missing my Nepali bai (brother) and his family the other day, realizing now it will be at least a year before I see them again. Maybe I should be careful where I travel or choose to live next. If I make it too far away from the US-Nepal-Bali track, the plane tickets are going to add up.
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Friday, July 19, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Bali Reflections
Transitions are hard for me. Anyone who knows me well, has heard me say that. And now I am in transition again: Bali to the US. It is surreal to say the least, as Bali and Bend, Oregon are diabolically opposed places: dry/wet, desert/tropics, cold/hot, no traffic/asian traffic, critter free/critters everywhere, etc. Bali is so far from the US, that I am convinced a person needs the 30hour crazy airport shuffle full of strangers, endless airplane movies, little sleep, security lines, etc to make the leap possible. That 'otherness' of the airports allows you to feel the difference between the two worlds. It's like a long travel portal. Once on the other side, you can breathe in the hot, humid air or the dry crisp air, depending. But if I didn't have that long travel, I think it would mess with my head.
So as I make this transition, I still have a few weeks here in Bali for reflection.
Here is a current story:
The other day, I was given the wonderful opportunity to visit my friend Putu's family near Tabanan, about one hour north of Ubud, where I live. We got a late start that day, about 1:30pm from my house in the Penestanan rice fields. First we had to go back to Putu's house to pick up her family. They all squeezed on her motorbike (husband, nine & four year old and Putu) while I sat on mine. A family of four on one and me on the other. Very odd, but she would have it no other way. I was the guest and should have the comfortable ride. We detoured up through the north via some tourist spots: a large market, rice fields, a temple, etc. Each time Putu wanted to stop and show me, I said let's keep going to your parent's house. I didn't want to be out too much past dark, which gave us limited time on the equatorial time clock: 6am sunrise, 6pm sunset. But all was good since we were on the scenic short cut! Little did we all know that the back way road was under construction duress (maybe never get fixed) and the entire road was jutted, jagged, potholes and small boulders. No cement. It was an hour on this road. My internal organs were shaken and not stirred. We finally arrived to a another small back road in this village, two hours after we left my house. I parked and quickly checked my tire. My suspicions were right: I had a flat tire. I think the last steep uphill road, with no flat surface but scary, muddy-covered trail through rubble sealed the leaky tire to rupture. What a ride! Putu kept apologizing since she didn't know about the road conditions. But not to worry. It was an experience, right?
But we made it! The family was very excited to see me: mom, dad, sisters, nieces, nephews, brother-in-law, grandma, neighbors, etc. It was an event. We sat and made introductions and shook hands. As I have contracted a parasite recently, I wasn't feeling too well and refused more than a nibble of food. I was offered banana pancakes, rice, chicken, coffee, sweets, etc. I never refuse meals when visiting relatives in any home. But I had too. They were sad about that. It was a short and sweet visit, although only a few relatives spoke any English, so it was me playing with the kids. As usual. They make the easiest conversation without actually saying anything: just smiles, giggles, hugs and little games. The house was small compared to many Balinese family compounds I have visited. And I was disturbed that everyone just tossed their garbage onto the ground. As I peered over the yard, down to the jungle I saw a huge pile of rubbish, lending to the smell permeating the house. That and the pigs, made for a pungent afternoon visit.
With darkness approaching, I asked about my motorbike (dad and husband went to fix as the inner tube had exploded) and all was ready to go. We decided to not return the scenic way, but head right through traffic and busy streets. Maybe one hour home? That wasn't thrilling to hear but a better alternative than the internal-organ-scrub-in-reverse way. And then it started to rain.
We headed off, with me diligently following, weaving between crazy Bali traffic in intersections that seemed immensely bigger than in a car. It was hard to keep up but I realized that if I didn't, I would be lost. I knew how to ask directions for my way home, but an hour of navigating through the capital city was daunting to say the least. And it was raining. And dark. Hard to see, slippery streets, covered in a poncho and trying to see through the droplets smashing against my helmet visor. Once I strategically pulled up to Putu at a stop light, (difficult with motorbikes squeezing into every crevice and crack in between cars and the traffic, making it bulge into all the lanes) and asked if we were close. Not even. So I pretended I was in a high speed chase and my life depended on staying close to this motorbike ahead of me: very James Bond-ish. It made it more fun. And eventually the rain slowed down and the streets became more familiar. And then we pulled over, said goodbye and I continued on to my home, another 25 minutes away but on streets that were dark, dry and quieter.
I said I would come back and visit again soon. But maybe we could leave in the morning and return before dark?
So as I make this transition, I still have a few weeks here in Bali for reflection.
Here is a current story:
The other day, I was given the wonderful opportunity to visit my friend Putu's family near Tabanan, about one hour north of Ubud, where I live. We got a late start that day, about 1:30pm from my house in the Penestanan rice fields. First we had to go back to Putu's house to pick up her family. They all squeezed on her motorbike (husband, nine & four year old and Putu) while I sat on mine. A family of four on one and me on the other. Very odd, but she would have it no other way. I was the guest and should have the comfortable ride. We detoured up through the north via some tourist spots: a large market, rice fields, a temple, etc. Each time Putu wanted to stop and show me, I said let's keep going to your parent's house. I didn't want to be out too much past dark, which gave us limited time on the equatorial time clock: 6am sunrise, 6pm sunset. But all was good since we were on the scenic short cut! Little did we all know that the back way road was under construction duress (maybe never get fixed) and the entire road was jutted, jagged, potholes and small boulders. No cement. It was an hour on this road. My internal organs were shaken and not stirred. We finally arrived to a another small back road in this village, two hours after we left my house. I parked and quickly checked my tire. My suspicions were right: I had a flat tire. I think the last steep uphill road, with no flat surface but scary, muddy-covered trail through rubble sealed the leaky tire to rupture. What a ride! Putu kept apologizing since she didn't know about the road conditions. But not to worry. It was an experience, right?
But we made it! The family was very excited to see me: mom, dad, sisters, nieces, nephews, brother-in-law, grandma, neighbors, etc. It was an event. We sat and made introductions and shook hands. As I have contracted a parasite recently, I wasn't feeling too well and refused more than a nibble of food. I was offered banana pancakes, rice, chicken, coffee, sweets, etc. I never refuse meals when visiting relatives in any home. But I had too. They were sad about that. It was a short and sweet visit, although only a few relatives spoke any English, so it was me playing with the kids. As usual. They make the easiest conversation without actually saying anything: just smiles, giggles, hugs and little games. The house was small compared to many Balinese family compounds I have visited. And I was disturbed that everyone just tossed their garbage onto the ground. As I peered over the yard, down to the jungle I saw a huge pile of rubbish, lending to the smell permeating the house. That and the pigs, made for a pungent afternoon visit.
With darkness approaching, I asked about my motorbike (dad and husband went to fix as the inner tube had exploded) and all was ready to go. We decided to not return the scenic way, but head right through traffic and busy streets. Maybe one hour home? That wasn't thrilling to hear but a better alternative than the internal-organ-scrub-in-reverse way. And then it started to rain.
We headed off, with me diligently following, weaving between crazy Bali traffic in intersections that seemed immensely bigger than in a car. It was hard to keep up but I realized that if I didn't, I would be lost. I knew how to ask directions for my way home, but an hour of navigating through the capital city was daunting to say the least. And it was raining. And dark. Hard to see, slippery streets, covered in a poncho and trying to see through the droplets smashing against my helmet visor. Once I strategically pulled up to Putu at a stop light, (difficult with motorbikes squeezing into every crevice and crack in between cars and the traffic, making it bulge into all the lanes) and asked if we were close. Not even. So I pretended I was in a high speed chase and my life depended on staying close to this motorbike ahead of me: very James Bond-ish. It made it more fun. And eventually the rain slowed down and the streets became more familiar. And then we pulled over, said goodbye and I continued on to my home, another 25 minutes away but on streets that were dark, dry and quieter.
I said I would come back and visit again soon. But maybe we could leave in the morning and return before dark?
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