Going home



Growing up we moved around a lot. We lived on a farm surrounded by pigs and dogs, we made a big step by moving to the city and from that moment on we didn't ever stay in the same place for a very long time. I feel like because of that I never really settle anywhere and to me it feels like an advantage to be able to move freely and feel happy wherever I go. Even though no house has been a home for a long period of time, there has been a place that has felt like home ever since I was a little kid. My parents would take me and my brother to Bali almost every year and we would always stay for a month. Every time I arrive, the humidity and the smell of Kretek cigarettes and jasmine take me back to some of my sweetest memories. Christmas at the beach, eating nasi campur at a friend's place, sweaty salsa nights in Warung Made; it has all made such an impression on me. I feel like in a way the island has really become a part of me. 

When people say that it's just another island with fancy resorts and cheap cocktails, I feel bad. Because yes, every now and then you can drink a pineapple cocktail next to the pool and there are some really pretty villas. And it hurts me to see that some of my favorite Indonesian food corners are being replaced by shopping malls and European restaurants, but I also know that if I just follow the flies up the dirty alleys I will eventually find Bali's true cuisine. And I know that if I skip the resorts and the expensive tours, I will find true culture and local people that will teach me so much more than a tour guide ever will. Though Bali has become a popular spot for people that are mainly interested in the garden of their hotel and the Magic Mushroom party experience, there's still a big beating cultural heart that I hope won't stop beating anytime soon.

I had the pleasure of taking Rick to Indonesia for the first time. We both have Indonesian families and it has always been his dream to travel to the "promised land", as he would call it. I wanted to show him the country our families came from, but also the island that I fell so in love with. He never really understood what drove me back to Asia every time; what made me so eager to return. But the moment he arrived, the humidity and the smell of Kretek cigarettes and jasmine made him fall in love in the same way I did. We rented a motorbike and drove around Bali. We ate bakso on the beach for breakfast and nasi bungkus out of a banana leaf on the street for dinner. I showed him the little hut that I used to live in when I lived in Bali and I showed him the friends that had become my family. We went to salsa nights and to the waterfalls, we saw the kecak dances being performed in temples and most of all we experienced the island life in a way close to the way that I did a couple of years ago.

I felt grateful for being able to do so, but on the other side it hurts to see that slowly the Bali I used to know is disappearing. That people are not able to respect the locals, the nature and the culture and take this island, as many other places in the world, and try to own it and pollute it with their Western influences. I hope that in 20 years we can still return to the same people and that they will still be able to work and live in the same way they did when I first arrived. I can only wish that in 20 years I will still be able to eat nasi bungkus on the street and see kecak dances being performed in temples. I can only wish that in 20 years I will still be able to go back home.