Bali was beautiful. I was a mess.
On love, fear and how I nearly sabotaged everything
This story is taken from the diaries I kept during my travels in Bali, exactly twelve years ago this week. If you missed the first part of this story, you can read it here: I fell in love with a guy while travelling.
“You can’t imagine how much I want to be there with you,” he messages me one afternoon. “The countdown is killing me.”
I’m back in Bali, staying at my favourite spot. A year ago, during a manifestation workshop here in Ubud, I wrote about the kind of romantic partner I wanted to attract into my life. Someone who will fly from another country to be with me, I wrote. Someone like Steeve - the Frenchman I met while waiting for a bus in New Zealand.
In a few days he will fly over from Australia, where he’s been backpacking up the east coast. He’s due to arrive on my birthday.
“Are you doing voodoo things to me?” he continues. “I think about you all the time.”
The image of me casting a spell over a tiny Steeve doll makes me laugh. But between us, I’m sure I’m the one under some kind of spell.
I reply that I’m feeling the same way. In fact I’m counting the days and hours, trying to ignore the tightness in my stomach. What if he arrives and realises he’s made a mistake?
The reunion
On the day of my birthday I relocate to Seminyak, with its fancy bars and restaurants, and check into our hotel.
Rose petals in the shape of a massive pink heart decorate the bed, while towels fashioned into a pair of swans kiss each other. It’s almost too perfect.
An hour later I’m at the airport. People stroll through the arrivals gate, rolling their luggage. I feel like I’m going to burst with anticipation.
Eventually Steeve appears. He comes over to give me a hug and a peck on the cheek. There are no dramatic speeches, only polite hellos. In the taxi he makes small talk about something he left behind at a hostel in Cairns. I must have misunderstood something - maybe we’re just travel buddies after all.
