We left Bali today after two wonderful months of getting to know ourselves again. That might sound odd, but when you’ve lived in survival mode for so long, it’s impossible to know who you are beneath the armour—armour that’s protected you from chaos, but also from truth. Truth like: you were ticking boxes, going through motions, cohabiting with someone who was quietly slipping into sadness. And truthfully, the silence about that sadness made it hard to distinguish what was "normal" from what was drowning.
I kept pushing, climbing the career ladder, chasing success, but now I wonder if that was ever what I truly wanted.
As we boarded the plane to Vietnam, a profound sadness settled in. Not just because we’re leaving a place, but because we’re leaving behind a version of ourselves we just started to meet. That unravelling is still in process, and I wish I could protect it like something delicate and sacred. But I also know it’s time to test these new freedoms. To explore, not to swap one familiar pattern for another, even a blissful one.
Sure, I could stay in Bali, find a yoga job, and live in ease. But I know in my heart that the growth I seek lies in the unexpected, the uncomfortable. The more I can move through stress and uncertainty with grace, the more I know I’ve truly changed.
Already, I notice the shifts, how I react, how I connect. If you’ve read my reflections from Alchemy, you’ll see it too: warmth, love, gratitude. None of that would have been possible without Mama Bali. But beyond the healing lies a truth: you only find what you seek if you continue to look. Standing still now would be a disservice to the time I’ve gifted myself.
What surprises me most is what I’m truly sad to leave: not the place, not the people, but the version of me I’ve become here. I’ve slipped into a new skin, one that fits so well I never want to take it off. Happy Bali Fai looks good on me.
We all wear masks, some for work, some for life. One day, we wake up and realise we’re not just behind a mask but buried under a barricade. For many of us, especially those on the yoga path, we have identified the heaviness in our bodies, and once recognised, it will not be ignored. The breath, the movement, the discipline —all help to dismantle it, one chaturanga at a time.
However, that kind of work demands a loss of identity, relationships, and sometimes the life we thought we wanted. Still, in that space of loss is where we wake up, where silenced parts of us start to speak again. Maybe it’s as simple as picking up a paintbrush, or as seismic as leaving a career or relationship behind. Whatever it is, allow yourself the grace to arrive gently.
Familiarity will always seduce us. I’m choosing the unknown, and whether this awakening is just beginning, or has been blooming for years, one thing is clear: I want this. The writing. The practice. The honesty. The sharing.
Because I want that for you, too.
If anything in this resonated with you
If you’ve been longing for a new skin that feels like home
If your soul’s been whispering under all the noise
Know this: your body holds the story. The shift begins when you listen. My health scare nearly three years ago was terrifying, but I’m endlessly grateful. It gave me truth. And that truth is something I believe lives in all of us.
Right now, this turbulent plane feels like a metaphor for the bumpy road ahead. But I know the Bali version of me is coming, too. She lives in my heart. And if I stay soft enough, she’ll guide us.
Next stop: Hanoi. After that? Who knows.
