I close the taxi door, thanking my driver, and glance around Dattatraya Square. The morning sun shines over everything, painting this bustling corner of the historic district of Bhaktapur in marvelous color and light. Inhaling deeply once, then again, I start upward through a slanted cobblestone alleyway. If my map is accurate, my destination is just ahead and to the left, a mere five-minute walk.
I round three quiet corners: left, then a quick right, then left again, approaching a small family temple in a peaceful courtyard, and gazing at what I believe to be my terminus. A neat, charming guesthouse – recommended to me by a recent acquaintance and friend in Kathmandu when I mentioned a longing to experience some quiet rest in the valley before embarking on a trek in the mountains – stands four stories high in front of me.
A radiant voice calls out to me from above, ‘Namaste!’, and I look up. Overhead, standing on the balcony of the highest floor, is a kind-faced woman maybe two decades my senior in a bright yellow kurta. She instantly reminds me of sunshine. My Nepali is limited, as is her English, but through gestures and giggles, we agree to meet at the front door so she can show me to my accommodation. She inquires about my friend, sharing some fond memories of him, and escorts me up two flights of stairs interrupted by tile floor landings, ending at a cozy room on the third floor.
I learn quickly that this woman is the keeper of the house, along with her husband. Twice, with great openness and generosity, she asks me whether I have eaten breakfast and if she can serve me some food and drink. This sounds wonderful, and my hungry stomach churns at the thought of food, or perhaps coffee after the early morning. Still, not wanting to inconvenience her, I reply truthfully that I had in fact enjoyed a small breakfast at my lodging in Patan before gaining a taxi here, and I thank her but decline the offer.
I settle into my room, a serene and architecturally stunning space. Terracotta- and cream-colored walls circumnavigate dark wood floors which mimic the rustic elegance of the dark beams overhead lining the ceiling. The bed quilt is patterned in a beautiful cerulean blue. French doors along with large windows on two walls let the light pour in, filtered through wispy, angelic white curtains. A balcony outside looks over the serene courtyard I was standing in just minutes before.
After a few moments’ rest, I climb to the upper level of the home, where the kitchen and dining area are situated (this high-kitchen feature, I later learn, is the layout of a typical Newari home). My host once again asks if she can bring me some sustenance, and once again I hesitate. I stammer, ‘Would it maybe be possible to make a cup of coffee?’ to which she replies, ‘Coffee, only? What about breakfast?” I hesitate again and manage to mumble something like ‘Well, maybe, sure, if it isn’t too much trouble.’
With a genuine, playful twinkle in her eyes, a sweetness in her voice, and an auntie-like care, she pretend-socks me in the arm with all gentleness and asks quizzically, ‘Are you fighting me?’ She then smiles widely and bobbles her head side-to-side in the way I am coming to learn is so characteristic of greetings and pleasantries in Nepal.
A brief pause ensues, and suddenly we are both overcome with laughter. I give in and accept her offer, and she sets a table outside on the back balcony, overlooking the district itself, buildings extending to the foothills of the mountains to the south. A cool breeze creates music from the small, bell-shaped chimes that hang over the balcony. And a beautiful breakfast feast is laid out before me – toast with an array of cheeses and hand-made jams, a soft-boiled egg, yogurt, vegetables, cured meats, guava juice, and coffee.
And in this place so far from home, and from this woman who may never know the impact that she had on my heart that morning (despite my bumbling, tearful efforts to profusely thank her before I left the district the following day), I felt for the umpteenth time the love and presence of God that has met me in countless ways – through countless faces and moments – these past two years as I have traveled, and throughout my life. And I wonder:
How often do we approach God with a posture of timidity rather than confidence? Of not wanting to ask to much or to inconvenience Him with our thoughts? How often do we limit our prayers to only what we think He can or will do? When verses like Ephesians 3:12 and Hebrews 4:16 tell us that we can approach Him boldly; and James 1:7 and Matthew 7:11 remind us that God delights in giving good gifts. I imagine Him taking in our hesitation and timidity with a playful ‘My child, are you fighting me?’. Because, what can He not do? Nothing is too big for Him. No ask is too great. And sometimes, He has a metaphorical feast in mind when the most we have in mind is a cup of coffee that we’re reluctant to ask for because ‘maybe it’s too small or inconvenient’, or ‘maybe He won’t answer the way I want Him to’, or ‘maybe He won’t answer at all’.
May we learn to approach God as a trusting son or daughter approaches a trusted father for wisdom, guidance, blessing. Not from a heart of demanding gifts, but of asking for big shifts – toward peace, toward grace, toward hope, toward faith, toward provision, toward healing. And not just for ourselves, but for our neighbors, our loved ones, and the world.
You know those excitable people who are always game for an obscenely early morning awakening, if it means doing or seeing something wonderful? I might be one of them… And it’s been a blessing to have found friends along the road of life who have a similar disposition. The flights, hikes and road trips we’ve taken that started hours before the first hint of dawn are numerous. There is something sweet and thrilling about these mornings and the tingle of anticipation that transmits through your body as you embark.
This is such a morning here in Bali. I woke up just before 2 AM, donned my hiking gear and boots, and I now wait outside the villa for the driver who will whisk me away to today’s adventure. The morning is calm, and the day is overflowing with promise.
The van arrives, and in the back seat I meet two other travelers who become fast friends. Hedda is here enjoying a yoga holiday far from her homeland in Sweden, and Luna is visiting Bali for several weeks from Korea. This – this – is one of the things I adore about travel, whether close to home or in far-off lands. If you journey with an open heart, travel will collide your story with the perspectives, ways, and stories of other people who you can share laughter and life lessons with, even if the moments are fleeting. And you can discover greater breadths and depths of God’s creative beauty along the way.
We navigate along dark, narrow, undulating roads for about 45 minutes, feeling safe the whole time because our driver is so expert, and we eventually arrive in the Kintamani Highlands – a calm landscape boasting both volcanic and pastoral views in the heart of Bali. We file out of the van one-by-one and are greeted by our kind hiking guide, Kopang. The air smells of sulphur, and our visibility is limited by the pre-dawn hour and a whimsical fog. But we know that we are standing at the foot of Mount Batur.
Our mission, which we’ve all accepted, is to climb to this volcano’s crest in time to see the sun rise.
Headlamps strapped to our foreheads and trekking poles in hand, we start out on flat ground, briefly weaving through expanses of farmland laden with crops and tin-roofed dwellings. Soon, we meet the trail that heads straight. up. the mountain. And for about ninety minutes, we hike at a steady pace and at an incline that is sure to add shape to anyone’s glutes and hamstrings. The ground under us transmogrifies from rocky terrain to a soft, fine, granular black soot, almost akin to hiking the sand dunes of the Sahara. We ascend higher and higher, even into a blanket of clouds that refreshes us with a light rainfall, and we giggle with delight, encourage each other to persevere, and share insights from our respective holidays as we go. Eventually, we summit to the ominous lip of the volcano’s crater where we sit to sip coffee and eat the breakfast our guide had graciously prepared earlier in the morning.
We sit and sit, awaiting a glorious break in the rainclouds. And we see…
Nothing.
We watch.
And wait.
And watch some more.
The hour for daybreak comes and goes. Our hands and noses are chilled from the altitude. The clouds we are waiting in illuminate from black to a jubilant grey.
No sunrise.
But wait a minute. Looking around, there is actually plenty to see. There are fellow hikers speaking a multitude of different languages. There are hot natural steam vents lining Batur’s crest that we use to warm our hands. There are wispy, dancing clouds and mists blowing around, above, behind and below us. There is hardy vegetation that extends over the edge of the crater and into the inner depths of Mount Batur that are presently concealed by fog. There is no shortage of joy, discovery, or beauty here just because it happens to be a cloudy day. And the sunrise, well, it’s there. We can’t see it. But its light still illuminates our day, and that – in itself – is a blessing.
I wonder, how often do we allow our expectations of an experience to cloud our journey through the experience itself? How often do we focus more on the outcome we hope for rather than on the joy, learning, and beauty to be gleaned from each step of the hike, each memory of sharing smiles and stories with others, each warm gesture that touches something cold or numb within us?
Is life not more rhythmic, more peaceful, and also more exciting when we allow each day to just be what it is – rain or shine – rather than demanding that it meet our expectations? When we lean into the loveliness and spontaneity around us no matter the circumstances? When we simply treasure each moment, each breath, each connection as the gift that it is, without prescribing or judging how it ‘should be’?
We snap some photos from the summit, enjoy the comfort of coffee mugs in our hands, and connect some more among our group. We then descend by the same trail that we rose from, and after returning below the level of the clouds, we are swept away by serene views of the highlands that were invisible to us during our ascension in the dark. We continue to visit, and we learn that today is Kopang’s birthday. We celebrate her before saying a warm ‘goodbye’, as our excursion continues.
Our group of three is escorted next to a collection of nearby hot springs. We enjoy a sweet tomato juice that is just as refreshing as all of the other cuisine and libations we have encountered here in Bali. We soak our muscles in the soothing pools, surrounded by beautiful views of Danau Batur (Lake Batur) and the mysterious Gunung Abang (Mount Abang), another local volcano. We then tour a third-generation coffee plantation to taste-test a variety of herbal teas and coffees native to Indonesia. This includes the acclaimed Kopi Luwak (for reference: http://www.kopiluwak.org/baru/index.html) which is an experience unto itself. We sit near an open-air treehouse on the plantation, overlooking the vast jungle, acquainting more and more. Butterflies flutter by, which bring to mind my grandfather who passed in 2021. I lift a cheers to him with a cup of plain black coffee – his favorite.
Hedda, Luna and I pile into our tour van for the drive home to Ubud, eyes and hearts and stomachs filled with cheer. We exchange contact information and are sure to continue following each other’s adventures.
I am the first to be dropped off, and after hugs and a universal ‘so wonderful to meet you’, I walk to Samyama Eatery one final time for an unbelievable, fresh Indonesian meal. I have pep in my step, partly out of gratitude for the incredible day, and partly because I’m due to meet my taxi for transport to the airport soon.
It’s the night before New Year’s Eve, and I am setting course for Singapore.
A new, refreshed day begins, and my eyes open unalarmed just before sunrise. I close them again, not in sleep, just to heighten my attention to the morning’s bird-singing, palm-swaying melody arising from outside. Lingering in bed a few moments longer, I decide to slowly ready for a walk further along down the main road toward the series of rice fields that lie beyond the junction to the yoga center. It’s a sweet walk, a saunter, and as I exchange greetings with the family who owns the shop across the street, and as I admire the organized, bright green patchwork fields that radiate on either side of the road, I say a prayer of thanks.
Bali is an island I never believed I would visit, nor necessarily ever planned to. (Perhaps I had thought of it in the remote past, but more so as a farfetched fantasy and less of a real possibility.) The same can be said for other destinations where my feet have wandered over the past several years. For instance, I started this year in Charleston, South Carolina and Moab, Utah, then made my way across the Pacific to Saipan and its sister islands, Tinian and Rota. Guam, Korea, Japan, the list goes on.
I grew up in a suburban corner of Minneapolis, Minnesota, raised in a family of humble means and big love. Our finances did not allow for travel, but I did have two diligent parents who – in various ways – worked very hard to provide for our family and encouraged my sisters and I to dream imaginatively and to believe in possibility, even if our means at the moment did not seem to add up to our hopes. My mom, in particular, spurred us on greatly in pursuing whatever God-given purposes were out there for us to discover in life, even if the path was not yet clear, even if it did not make practical sense.
As for me, many of my dreams revolved around travel – acquainting my senses with new sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches, different from those that were familiar to me. I believed deeply in God from a young age, and my sense of wonder about the world – about the joys and perils of humanity as a whole, about the diversity of languages and cultures and histories, about the mystery of wide landscapes and high mountains and deep seas – derives from the notion that these give us a glimpse of God’s heart, His creativity, His grace, His power, and His mighty love for us. If God created and cares about all of these stories and places – from those in my own neighborhood to those in another community on the opposite side of the globe – I wanted to care about them, too.
Believing also in God’s heart for restoring brokenness, I gravitated toward the field of medicine early on; and despite not having a clue how to go about becoming a physician, I felt led toward that pursuit from the age of 10. The miraculous design of the human body, how it carries our being and protects us each day, the ways it is built to repair itself as well as possible when attacked by infection or inflammation or injury, how greatly our lives are affected based on the health of the body (as well as the health of the environment and society that we grow up in) – this speaks to me. How can I be a part of helping repair the brokenness and illness that can assail the body or mind or heart? How can I encourage others in journeying healthfully? How can I partner with those healing efforts that have gone on for centuries before me and will continue for centuries after, especially when you take all of this and apply it to one of the most bright and resilient but vulnerable demographics on the planet – children. Hence, my deep dive into pediatrics over the years.
As I walk along these rice fields, I think about how pragmatically unlikely a trip to Bali or working as a pediatrician felt when I was young, and how humbling it is now to be living out those hopes and dreams. How grateful I am for parents who encouraged me to see and believe beyond the visible reality, even if I had to squint to do so, and to imagine in the distance what I could not yet see. To have faith.
I realize the hour, and walk a little more briskly back to my villa to get ready for this morning’s yoga practice – an introductory study of tantra – which is new for me. Dijan explains how, in essence, the practice involves a keen attention to the physical body and the sensations and energies that pulse through it (which often occur outside of our active awareness). Tantra is much more involved than this in reality, but I am grateful to Dijan for explaining it in such digestible and basic language for a beginner like me. This morning’s is a gentle, simple but powerful work that combines yoga asanas with meditation, again with breathing, and for me, with prayer. It is both refreshing and challenging, as the poses we each assume are meant to be held for longer than is physically comfortable, and the discipline it takes to remain still and to relax further into the pose is something I have not practiced consistently before. Then, the practice is refreshing again as we end in shavasana for the final relaxation, and I experience a sense of out-of-body-ness that I have never felt before – a total stillness, peace, and oneness of my self with my surroundings.
We three wrap up the session and grab breakfast together in the Samyama Eatery once again, then due to a change in schedule, I am released for the rest of the day to explore. After stopping briefly to hug Kopang, the lovely friend/chef/AirBnB experience curator/motor scooter driver from yesterday, I return to the villa, don my swimwear and sarong, and set out walking again, this time south along the main road outside of my complex.
Included in my retreat is a day pass to a local health club called Titi Batu Ubud, a ‘very sexy’ place as I was told by a staff member at Samyama. And it is. As I approach the complex, I notice that it is surrounded by lush tropical forest. Several sleek, windowed structures housing gym equipment, workout studios, and dressing rooms hug a central, open-air multilayered pool and lounge space which is the direct neighbor of a restaurant exuding the most delicious fragrances. I feel overly spoiled and grateful, and start my time with a cleansing rest in the sauna overlooking the pool. I then ease over to the ice bath next door, allowing my body to enjoy the cooling treatment in this tropical environment, and then proceed to the steam room (which, in my ignorance, I had never before differentiated from a sauna) before honing in on a chaise with a beautiful pool view. I take out my notebook and get lost in writing. And writing. And writing.
About an hour passes, and I float over to a benched pile of plush, jewel-toned pillows at the restaurant for a fresh-pressed juice – a fusion of citrus and mango and carrot – as well as an indulgent coconut affogatto (rich espresso poured over a scoop of coconut ice cream). Tarrying a while, I journal some more, share pleasantries with a couple of other guests, and then walk home to get ready for an afternoon adventure. Aishwarya and I made spontaneous plans to visit the iconic rice terraces!
We set out north by scooter, and the views are not to be believed. Rice paddies for miles, some porting a shallow layer of calm water that reflects the backdrop of palm trees and grey-blue clouded skies, which are becoming cloudier by the moment. We pass glorious decorative temples every several minutes and start to feel the sprinkle of rain drops, then as we arrive at the Tegallalang terraces – designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and for good reason – a true downpour begins. Covered in rain gear, we scurry along a line of cafés and shopping stands that overlook the fields, giddy and giggling like school girls with a crush on the same boy, and narrow our focus to the Rice Terrace Cafe. To our delight, we find ourselves the sole occupants of an expansive balcony overlooking this internationally-renowned view.
These terraces are arranged in a clever design that facilitates irrigation through a generations-old system tended to by cooperatives of locals from surrounding villages. These cooperatives are known as ‘subak’. I loved reading about this system here: https://www.indonesia.travel/gb/en/destinations/bali-nusa-tenggara/bali/subak.
We marvel with gratitude at the green heaven in front of us, order fun and refreshing food and drinks, and reflect on the yoga retreat, on courage, and on life. Conversation then pauses as we each journal, listening to the raindrops on nearby tin roofs, taking lingering glances at the fields, thinking out loud to each other every so often. It is only my second day here, and the amount of refreshment and growth and friendship contained in so many ways and places and people in the last 36 hours is both humbling and even life-altering.
After a comfortable while, when there is a break in the heaviest rainfall, we put on our waterproof layers once again and slowly walk back to the scooter. We journey 25 minutes home to our respective villas at around 6:30 PM, most of the way in that continuing downpour which leaves us as drenched as dogs after a daytime swim, with full and bright hearts.
My last activity for the evening, another inclusion in this retreat, is a 60-minute massage with a deep tissue practitioner named Ketut. He is well-known to Dijan, her staff, and the community for massages that both reset and relax the whole being. I walk happily again that short distance between Kutus Kutus and Samyama and allow myself to slowly doze off in complete, blissful relaxation.
I have trouble describing how otherworldly this trip has been so far. On one hand, these experiences are so luxurious and indulgent that I almost cringe. They contrast so greatly with the frugal nature that has been engrained within me from childhood. On the other, my heart is overflowing with gratitude for the opportunity to rest and enjoy in this way, and I am humbled to be here and appreciative to an extent that no words can describe. For as deep, dark, frightening, and painful as life’s valleys have been, particularly starting this time around four years ago, what a blessing to now be wildly beholden for these terraced heights.
“Okay Ti, let me get a pen and write this down. Tiana’s Christmas Adventure!” My mom, more than 6700 miles away, sought around her for something to write with, and in her usual gracious, supportive fashion sat ready with a notebook to take in the planning and processing that I was sharing.
I had just finished my final night shift on call at the hospital after what had been a particularly challenging 10 days on service over the Thanksgiving holiday. To decompress after an intense early-morning admission, I set up shop at one of my favorite island cafe spaces with a peaceful, healing view of the water. I love my job, and I love working with the incredible children and families on this enchanting island; and at the same time, any work that involves long hours, intense decision making, and difficult logistics – layered together with the impact of being miles and oceans away from loved ones – also calls for intentional moments of pause, rest, self-compassion, and recharging. Blessedly, Saipan is a beautiful place to snuggle into such moments.
Over the past week, I had made the difficult decision not to go home for the upcoming Christmas and New Year celebrations, and I was now discussing with my mom how to make life-giving use of the holiday on this side of the Pacific, which would allow for fewer time zone crossings and less jet lag. For reasons I can only attribute to a vague sense of ‘right-ness’, I had landed on the basic infrastructure of a two-week pilgrimage first through Bali, then Singapore, then somewhere else that I had not yet decided on – planning to just see where the time would lead in those final few days. Together with my mom, we agree that something about this dream makes intuitive sense, even though neither of us can rationally articulate why. I book my flights to Bali, then Singapore, then back to Saipan. The dates are set. I leave the cafe trusting that the lodging in each locale will fall into place in the coming days, and I feel a state of steady calm warm my soul as I make my way home for some deep and needed sleep.
——
That was four weeks ago, and now here I sit after my first full day in Bali. The itinerary for the next four days here is bent on rest, focus, and delight, and this first day leaves me feeling off to a blessed start.
After a hair-thin connection in Manila and a Home Alone-like dash to the gate, I boarded my flight to Bali-Denpasar International Airport late last night and arrived in Bali around 0200 this morning – tired from around 24 hours of travel, but content and at ease. The queue for immigration clearance was lengthy, taking over an hour, but I didn’t mind; I was grateful just to sit and exist, anonymous in this crowd of fellow travelers with similar glaze over their eyes from the early morning hour. I wove lazily through the line, then once it was my turn to approach was quickly cleared by an immigration officer who, when I shared about my home state, was excited to talk about the Minnesota Timberwolves. After a few moment’s connection with him, followed by a brief currency exchange, I proceeded through the duty-free area of the airport to find the man who would help me to the evening’s lodging.
Komang was a kind and jubilant man – taxi driver and tour guide by profession – who allowed me to sit in the front seat so I could admire the views along both sides of the road as we navigated the narrow, dark, relatively empty streets. Conversation was easy, and I learned the very basics of the Balinese language (greetings/welcome = om swastiastu; thank you = suksma), the proximity between Balinese culture and Hindu customs and traditions which I had formerly only associated with India, and the general geography of Bali. I plan to spend my time in Ubud, one cultural heart of this storied island, mostly surrounded with verdure and rice fields – a welcome, tranquil atmosphere.
After a measure of around 50 minutes we arrive at Kutus Kutus Mas Villa in Ubud, and with drowsy admiration and appreciation, I take in the dense palms and tropical flowers illuminated by golden lanterns in the night. I check in, practicing the limited Balinese that Komang had taught me moments earlier, and weave through an open-air courtyard with beautiful landscaping and a sparkling blue pool, eventually arriving at the ornate wood-carved doors to my home for the week – a truly stunning Balinese villa. I marvel another moment, I tuck my belongings away in the armoire, and then I tuck myself into the fresh white linens laid over a mattress that perfectly absorbs my exhausted body.
I fall asleep within minutes, and awaken spontaneously just a few hours later, mystifyingly refreshed. Birdsongs carry through the closed wooden window shutters, and as I prop those shutters open, I am met with bright, warm sunshine and a courtyard view that my eyes cannot believe. The pool’s shimmer is even more luminous in the daylight. The villas surrounding the courtyard are a soothing orange creamsicle color; my small front patio is adorned with simple, sturdy, classic wicker furniture, with a background of concrete walls and window shutter relief carvings depicting Hindu deities and bold florals. The moment contained a delicious symphony of sounds and colors and sensations that would continue to develop throughout the day.
I then began to gradually ready for my first yoga class. Ubud is a sort of worldwide hub for yoga practitioners, which I have never thought myself to be, but which felt like a healthy way to invest my time, body, heart and mind as I reflect on this year’s end and next year’s start. I opted for a private retreat, entailing a 90-minute yoga practice each morning, breakfast at the eatery adjacent to the yoga center each day, and 90 minutes of didactics or additional yogic work in the afternoon, all under the tutelage of a mentor named Dijan.
The retreat center, called ‘Samyama’ – ‘sam’ meaning ‘integration’, ‘yama’ meaning ‘discipline’ – lies five minutes walking from my villa along a quiet, brick road lined with quaint resorts, rice fields, and small family-run convenience shops. Intermittent motor scooters ease along the way, leaving the trace smell of fuel each time they pass. I feel like I am floating as I step along the side of the road, absorbing the warmth of the day into my skin, breathing in the tropical air, eyes keen to retain every detail before me – the vibrant red hibiscus, the swaying palm leaves, the tiny canine that shyly approaches and begins to trace my steps. I am nothing short of wholeheartedly grateful.
After a short jaunt along the main road, I turn left where signs indicate the retreat center will be. The path leads through a narrow alleyway decorated with birds of paradise, the entry into a spa exuding an incredible perfume (which I will later come to identify as plumeria or frangipani), and ending with a staircase which descends into the gardened courtyard of Samyama Yoga Center. The steps curving down contain stones of two different shades, neatly arranged one after the other with the words ‘love’ and ‘compassion’. The bright yellow edifice is hugged on all sides by luscious foliage that gently dances in the breeze. To the right, a stairway leads upward to Samyama Eatery, an airy, open oasis for eating, mingling, resting. And my word, the songs arising from the trees and the birds. Remember the symphony that started this morning? It is in the process of a glorious crescendo.
I am running a little later than expected, but feel unrushed, and soon learn that my mentor as well as my co-retreater are delayed a few minutes as well. One of the eatery staff members shows me the path to the yoga hall in the lower level of the building, where I wait for class to begin. I whisper my thanks, so as not to disturb the attendants of a separate silent retreat taking place in the upper recesses of the center. Dijan and my co-retreater, Aishwarya, arrive shortly after me, and we all meet with hugs and happy greetings, as if long-time friends. I immediately feel welcomed and at home.
We prepare the room with our mats, bolsters, yoga blocks, and bottles of water and proceed through a gentle but stimulating practice, with emphasis today on coordinating our breathing with our movements and attention to the energy and sensation that evolve and travel throughout our physical bodies as we clear and focus our minds. For me, this movement and breathing creates space for prayer and inner stillness. A practical introduction, if you will, to the integration and discipline of mind, body and soul that we will continue to build on in the coming days.
The work is refreshing, and as we end in a guided, relaxing shavasana (or corpse pose), we slowly walk together to the eatery for breakfast. We spend the next hour further acquainting with each other. Dijan shares about her passion for yoga and her years of training and experience in its various disciplines and practices; Aishwarya and I share a little about our stories, our often intense work environments (we work in different industries, but interestingly face some of the same threats for burnout – prolonged hours, sometimes isolating contexts, and great physical and emotional demands). I note inwardly how thankful I am to be among such kindred spirits – vibrant and light but no-nonsense hearts; full of curiosity and passion; bent on vulnerability, authenticity, and deep connection.
After breakfast, I have an hour’s rest until my first one-on-one session with Dijan. I climb the winding staircase to the upper level of the retreat building, which is divided in two between a meditation hall (currently in use for the silent retreat) and a separate laid-back, cushioned space with macrame chair swings suspended from the ceiling and bookcases filled with age-old insights. I nestle into one of the hanging chairs and rock back and forth a short while, journal a few moments, and drift into a soft sleep while the symphony around me continues in pianissimo fashion.
My early afternoon meeting with Dijan is an in-depth ‘get to know you’. She takes a detailed, compassionate history of what brings me to Bali, and allows me to share my story and my intention for being here. I am not here to be a tourist in the classic sense. I have no aspirations to see all that there is to see in Bali while I am here; I will not even try. Instead, my intent is to discover deeper layers of myself, to spend dedicated time with God in prayer, to clear and focus my mind as the new year approaches, to rest and care well for my body, and to open my heart in greater and greater measure to love and joy and possibility, to the point of overflowing. Dijan is attentive, asks thoughtful and clarifying questions, and I can see her beginning to formulate a plan around how to customize my curriculum this week. Once again, I pause for a moment of gratitude.
After our visit, I walk blissfully back to my villa and prepare for a Balinese cooking class I had registered for – the one activity besides my retreat that I signed up for in planning my stay in Ubud. Cooking classes with locals have become an important part of my international travels. I learn so much about daily life and culture and food in these contexts, ways of living that are different (but in some ways also so similar) from what I know, ways of thinking and seeing the world that I have not thought of before. I treasure these conversations, the insights they provide to fill in the gaps of my (unintentional) cultural ignorance, and the moments of connection and friendship that they create.
I am picked up from the villa via motor scooter by Kopang, who to both of our surprise, I had encountered briefly earlier in the day. Kopang happens to be the lead chef at Samyama Eatery, where I ate breakfast! And she happens to organize the cooking class I registered for through AirBnB in addition. She and I are fast friends, and as we ride through the streets of Ubud to her local shop, we discuss upcoming Balinese holiday celebrations, the yoga retreat, and life in general. I learn that in Balinese, ‘Ubud’ means ‘healing’, and I am struck by the notion, as that is just about the most perfect word to describe my journey these past five years, and my time so far in this ethereal place. We arrive at the shop she partners in with her sister Ayu, who will walk me through the class while Kopang returns to the eatery.
The storefront, ‘Tangan Lokal’, is a neat, beautiful space filled with jarred containers of flowers, greens, and other spices. I am met with a refreshing welcome drink, a blend of mint, lime, honey, water and ice. Over the course of two hours, Ayu teaches me to make four Balinese dishes – an iced hibiscus tea with lime and honey (which involves a form of magic – or really, chemistry between the lime and the tea – that causes an almost alchemic purple-to-pink color change in the beverage), an appetizer called bakwan jagung (Indonesian corn fritters) with a classic spicy sauce called sambal, an Indonesian curry for the main dish, and a green roll with a fried coconut filling for dessert, called dadar gulung. The produce we use is sensationally colorful and astoundingly fresh. The conversation is light and informative, almost familial, as if I’m among a long-lost relative. And the meal – well, let me just say that if taste could be musical, this meal would add something maestoso to the day’s orchestral performance.
After enjoying the meal, I walk the busy streets of central Ubud and do some gift shopping for family. Cars are stalled in bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic, as motor scooters whiz bravely by and pedestrians are out about their evening activities, choosing between myriad beautiful restaurants and cafés. My path lines a park space where a cohort of school-aged kids play futbol as the sun sets. A group of men are molding tall stalks of bamboo into curved hooks, called penjor, in preparation for the upcoming Galungan festival in early January. After meandering a while, I return to the shop for my scooter taxi home, where I take a brief but satisfying dip in the cool pool and get ready to meet Aishwarya for an evening adventure. We stop by Yoga Barn, one of the more well-known yoga centers in Ubud, for a brief look-around, then make our way back to central Ubud and find a local bar and restaurant called ‘Oops’ where we settle in as a gentle rain begins. A live guitarist and vocalist decorates the air with soothing music, and Aishwarya and I share more about our respective journeys over French fries and drinks. What a treasure this was! She and I are alike in so many ways, in spite of growing up on opposite sides of the planet, in different faith traditions, with a passion for different industries. I am struck by the feeling of having gained a soul sister today, and am reminded of the Maya Angelou quote: We are more alike, my friend, than we are unalike.
After finding a few additional gifts for family, we retreat back to our respective resorts. For the umpteenth time, I thank God for bringing me here, for the day, for each moment, for revealing Himself and His love through the smiles and hearts and sights and sounds that I had the humbling privilege of encountering over the past 18 hours. And now I realize, it has only been 18 hours! My gosh, if such beauty can transpire in so short a time, I am overwhelmed to think about where this “Christmas Adventure”, as my mom aptly named it, will lead from here.
A friend and I embarked on a two-week road trip in mid-September, traversing around 1,795 miles of America’s beautiful Southwest. For our first major stop, we were met by the vast and sun-scorched vistas – where the low Colorado and high Mojave deserts converge – which characterize the magical Joshua Tree National Park. What complex, mysterious geology and ecology weave together here. I saw the friendly and quirky Joshua Tree, reminiscent of a stick figure with myriad arms waving ‘hello’ in all directions, growing at a rate of only 0.5 to 3 inches per year. I observed the various species of the somewhat more guarded cactus whose countless spines provide shade and protection to allow for its survival in arid conditions. I noticed the mounds of fiery boulders, remnants of historical tectonic and volcanic activity underneath the earth’s crust. I felt the sun’s heat radiating from the rocky terrain by day, and the refuge of soft cool breeze by night. I marveled at the clearest, most starlit Milky Way skies I have ever beheld. And I was mesmerized. Our three-day itinerary involved:
Sunsets at Cholla Cactus Garden and Keys View
A daytime hike and later nighttime astrophotography at Arch Rock Trail, with a stop at Heart Rock
A graded, inclined hike up Ryan Mountain
Wandering the easy-going Barker Dam Loop, with a stop to observe ancient petroglyphs
Rock scrambling and searching for slot passages through the Hall of Horrors
A hot desert jaunt through 49 Palms Oasis Trail
Dinner at the cool, relaxing Kitchen in the Desert (Order the Brussels sprouts. Just do it.)
AirBnB lodging at the lovely Kozy Homes at 29
Drinking boatloads of water and reapplying tubfuls of sunscreen
I love how the concept of home evolves and expands over time. How we can find a sense of true home - A space where we are safe and known - In so many ways As we journey through life.
How it includes meaningful places, yes, But not only your hometown, Also the distant paths where your feet have treaded, And where your heart has found rest Among new communities, Among unique colors and textures, Among customs not previously known to you, But integrated now into who you are Because of how much they have So graciously Taught you.
And does it not also include people? The family, the village that raised you and lifts you up, The kindred friends who run top-speed into authentic, Whole-hearted living with you, Accepting you as you are, And encouraging you on the journey Of becoming who you were made to be. Their faces are home; Their smiles are home; Their voices are home; Their hugs are home. Their presence is - Home.
And is home not an atmosphere, The feeling Of perching with a book On the bench By the riverside where you’ve spent hours of your life, Breeze tickling your skin and toying with your hair, As you reflect on the joys and sorrows Now woven into your story? Of driving down highways so familiar That you can discern your speed without A glance at the meter; But also of marveling at the new horizons That have so shaped your heart In so short of a time? Of the cozy warmth of a coffeehouse Just down the way from your childhood street, Just as well as that which you come upon As you wander the alleys of a far off place That you never imagined visiting before? Of the rhythm and harmony Of ocean waves as they roll along an uncharted shore; The sunrise over the stillness Of your favorite lake; Or the rustling trees that line the Mountainous ridge that Challenges your mind, Heightens your senses, Burns - With both gentleness and power - Its grand beauty into your memory.
I find myself humbled, breathless, exceedingly grateful lately, For the moments and faces and places That feel like home. And for the ways we can carry home with us - Or encounter it along the way - Wherever in the world we go.
Rota. The island that blew me away. Where every place I visited, every person I encountered, every lesson I learned, every view I beheld felt like a hug from heaven.
Called ‘Luta’ in Chamorro, this is the third most populous island in the Northern Mariana archipelago, with somewhere between 2,500 and 3,000 residents as of 2020. Measuring around 32 square miles, it lies just less than 80 miles due southwest of Saipan. It is home to one of the warmest, friendliest, most relaxed communities I have ever encountered; to seemingly infinite beautiful sights, sounds, and scents; to numerous unique birds, some found exclusively in Rota; and to so many more gems, too numerous to list.
Words escape me when I try to describe how memorable this trip was. How full, whole and precious each moment was. What I can say is that it was the kind of retreat that leaves you with greater peace, deeper trust, and sharper clarity of purpose than when you arrived. And it is the sort of space that will gently teach you about yourself and about God’s love as you hike amidst its vast, mysterious mountains and palm tree jungles; enjoy its cool azure waters; or wind along its quiet, rocky roads to the tune of the local radio station.
A few of what feel like infinite highlights:
There is a custom on Rota called the ‘Rota Wave’. Any time you drive past an oncoming car, you lift your fingers from the steering wheel and acknowledge the other driver with a gentle wave.
Three giant orange sea turtles said hello, one while scuba diving, two while riding the waves near shore before submerging.
Scuba diving with a school of hundreds of convict surgeonfish.
Meeting so many kind souls and strangers who treated me like family: Tita Susan at Tiana’s Café, Calvin and friends at Alaguon Point, Officer Jim on Mount Sabana, Dive Masters Rubinsan and Daisukesan, Lynne from my AirBnB.
Scaling a dried waterfall, using tree roots as climbing rope, to a landing where the morning rains left only a small trickling natural cascade.
Watching hundreds of birds, some exclusively found on Rota and nowhere else, return to perch at I’Chenchon Park Bird Sanctuary just before sunset.
Standing stupefied at the summit of Mount Sabana, marveling at the sunset and the horizon.
Winding down on the AirBnB balcony at the end of the night, flamenco and jazz playing, full moon overhead.
As for my favorite moment here by far, it went a little something like this:
My dive master and I each flipped our way backward off the edge of the boat and met at the bow before deflating our vests and submerging to the depth of the underwater cave that we planned to enter. We swam toward the large access point and squinted into the darkened space, noticing the lustrous scales of small schools of fish resting in the recesses by the little light that shone in from the open water behind us. All of a sudden, clouds outside parted, and a pillar of sunshine cut through a small opening in the cave’s rocky roof overhead. This cast a sharp, defined, shimmering stream of light directly downward through the water like a search and rescue beam, which bounced off the floor of the cave and refracted to illuminate the whole space.
It. Was. Stunning.
We took a few moments to marvel at the spectacle from various vantage points within the cave. My dive master then took out his writing tablet and penned ‘TOUCH THE LIGHT’ in all caps, gesturing toward the spotlight. At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. I was still trying to process the magic of this ethereal phenomenon we were seeing! His prompt finally registered, and I slowly approached the pillar, practicing the gliding kick he had shown me earlier in the morning. I extended my arm into the light, studying how it radiated over the contours of my salt-pruned hands. Then, I moved my whole body into the beam, allowing my eyes to follow it upward to the source, the sun glowing through that small orifice and the dancing, faceted water surface above. I reached for it. A million mental pictures and reflections ensued at once.
In that moment, I thought about former seasons in life that were darkened by pain or fear. I thought about how some days, there were only small moments of sunshine to hold onto, to ‘touch’ and lean into and grab hold of. And I thought about how much healing and sweetness God has redeemed from those seasons, how those once-tiny glimpses of light have grown into a sunburst that now seems to illuminate everything I see, filling my heart with gratitude and faith, wonder and delight.
I thought about the hugs and smiles and love of family and friends, the passions and dreams God places within each of us that set our hearts on fire, the prayers already answered and the ones that lie in wait, the way God is so faithful through highlands and heartaches. And I found myself praying:
Help us to live lives in which we seek to ‘touch the light’, To lean into the people and passions and moments and experiences that light us up, To always look for the shining lining in the clouds and caves of life, And to keep hopeful hearts in any season: In those that feel dark and in those that are flooded with sunshine.
I’m grateful, if you please, to share some of the footage of this special island with you. 🤍
History is palpable, accessible on this precious island. Its seasons are commemorated with a thoughtful and well-done museum in downtown Garapan, housed in what once served as a small community hospital during the era of Japan’s reign. The displays here trace the island’s journey from past to present – from pre-contact days through eras of botanical exploration by the French, from Spain’s colonization of the land through Germany’s and Japan’s and, ultimately, the United States.
Overwhelmingly, though, history here is something that you hike to, dive to, walk past, stumble upon as you explore the multitude of open, public spaces where you can tread. Not sterilized behind gates and glass cases, but saturated throughout the island itself. For instance:
Old Japanese Jail: This former jail sits one block from my apartment complex. Overgrown by nature, and surrounded by homes, its crumbling walls and metal grates exude an eerie but compelling air. I walked the halls here and peered into the cells, for which the floor is dug into the ground relative to the raised hallways. Where prisoners once dwelled, large tree trunks now rose overhead, and light peered in through the concrete-framed windows. Legend tells that Amelia Earhart was jailed here at one point during her excursion across the Pacific. Legend also tells that her body is buried on this very block, though no physical evidence has been found to prove this.
Sugar King Park:
A man named Matsue Haruji, originally from Japan, pioneered the sugar processing and export enterprise that was so important to economic growth in the Northern Mariana’s in the early 1900’s. There is a park nestled in the heart of Garapan honoring his success with a statue of his likeness, along with:
– A commemorative tree planted as a friendship exchange between the island of Saipan and the city of Aizu wakamatsu (where Mr. Haruji was from)
– A reconstructed Shinto shrine called Katori Jinja (the original of which was destroyed in World War II)
– A set of delapidating rocky staircase lined with tropical foliage and caves which formerly led to a flag tower used by German administrators in the 1900s to signal visiting ships,
– A hexagonal pagoda that serves as an international house of prayer in Saipan, and
– The famed ‘Bell of Peace and Love’ which, when rung, serves as a vow on the part of the ringer to pursue a life of peace and love, and guarantees that he or she will return to this special place again.
Christo Rai Bell Tower:
Just off the main Beach Road along the western lagoon stands a historic stone tower, constructed in the 1930s and still rising tall to this day. The original church building affiliated with this tower, a Catholic parish called Christo Rai, was destroyed in 1944 during the invasion of Saipan, and a new church has since been erected.
What a humbling and sobering privilege it is to learn about the long and faceted journey that this island and its people have been on for so long. As I continue my time here, I am eager to keep learning and trying to understand both the beauties and the harsh realities that Saipan has faced. More brief historical editions are to come.
Two gorgeous treks unfolded before my feet over the past couple of weeks, and I would love to share them with you:
Forbidden Island: One of the many scenic hikes on the island, Forbidden is an adventurer’s favorite. Starting on the cliffside overlooking the Pacific to the east, you begin by hiking through jungle to breathtaking views of two separate coves. The first is a sheer drop-off where you can see the lush jungle rising up to your left side, the clear turquoise water below crashing on the reef, and a rocky cliff to the right. You then continue through tall and dense foliage to a somewhat gentler slope that you hike down to approach the island itself. From the shore, you can venture northeast along the beach to a junction with gorgeous views of both coves, forward into the channel between Saipan and Forbidden Island, or hike the cliffs and caves to the southeast. This particular day, we braved the channel, swollen with large waves and current as the tide changed, and spent a few minutes exploring the uninhabited, rugged, flat-topped Forbidden Island. Birds sung overhead, and would perch on the large boulders towering all around us. Gorgeous views of Saipan were seen from here. These moments were memorable and magical, even more so given I hiked here on the one year anniversary of my grandfather’s death. It proved to be a special place to heal and sit with the gratitude I feel for my grandfather and for his precious role in my life.
Hidden Beach: I parked my car at the end of a paved roadway, and walked along a palm-lined gravel path to a rugged stairway leading toward the ocean. A sweet sun shower sprinkled down from fluffy clouds above as I walked, refreshing my skin from the heat of the day. The clouds dispersed, and the sun shone on a tiny gem of a stretch of sand ahead. Hidden Beach boasts clear aquamarine waters, a crocodile-shaped rock formation, and a large stony shelf not far off shore where waves crash, causing immense ocean sprays. I came here after a 24-hour call shift, took photos, and marveled for hours at the rolling water, and at how I somehow had this stunning vista all to myself.
Sending love and hugs, smiles and sunshine. 💛 Have a beautiful week!
I had a brief errand to complete in Guam this weekend, which allowed for a fun and rejuvenating getaway! My short time on the island was jam-packed with beauty and laughter, and I am so grateful that I was able to visit. A few highlights:
– At the airport during my errand (really, just a Global Entry interview), I met an officer who is a local to Guam, a woman just slightly older than me who grew up in the southern region of the island. We had an amazing conversation about Pacific history, culture, and politics; about our families; and about topics like the complexities of war – which Guam has seen much of – and forgiveness. I learned so much from my discussion with her! And I am going to treasure that encounter for the rest of my life.
– I quickly checked into my AirBnB – a sweet, colorful hut under a mango tree – then set out on a mini shopping spree for a couple of new dresses, bathing suits, and gifts for loved ones. Saipan does not have much shopping, which is okay, but that just meant that this was an especially refreshing outing!
– Puntan des Amares (“Two Lovers Point”) is a cliff top overlooking Tumon Bay where, by ancient story, two lovers forbidden from being together jumped to their deaths rather than being separated by familial and cultural tensions and expectations. Fences around the perimeter of the monument here are lined with heart-shaped locks placed by lovers who travel from every curve of the globe, commemorating their devotion to each other. As you look out over the bay, you can see the profile of a man’s face in the contour of the beach and of a woman’s face in the contour of the cliff (see the third and fourth photos below) – the two lovers forever present together here!
– Lounging on the beach at Tumon Bay allowed for lots of people-watching, as snorkelers, divers, and family and friend groups enjoyed the beautiful tropical afternoon at the base of a small cliff. I went for a dip in the still water, then leisurely pressed ‘play’ on my audiobook and closed my eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun on my face.
– Beach Bar is a lively, vibrant bar and restaurant complete with sand volleyball courts, a DJ, and smashing views of the sunset. Here, I ate dinner and enjoyed the end-of-day vista – joined by an elderly gentleman who was celebrating his final evening in Guam after a work stint here – and then played sand volleyball with a team of Navy men stationed on the island.
– Jimmy Dee’s is another, smaller beach bar further south along Tumon Bay. The gentleman I met at Beach Bar told me about this spot, recounting its Saturday night light and fire show, a performance by local Chamorro musicians and dancers. I made it just in time – the show was mesmerizing! – and crossed paths with several fun and inviting people throughout the night before returning to my AirBnB for a few hours rest.
– I had the chance to meet my AirBnB hostess the following day when I left (bright and early at 5 in the morning!), and we became fast friends. She is from the Philippines and has been living in Guam for over 30 years, has her PhD in education and works throughout the Marianas on promotion and advocacy, and is one of the kindest souls I have encountered so far on this journey. We exchanged contact information, snapped a photo together, and hope to reconnect in the coming months – She offered to teach me how to cook Filipino cuisine!
That’s all from Guam. 💛 Wishing you a bright and beautiful day!
Captivated Me 