They knew—this was just the beginning. And the path to understanding Bali wouldn't be enough with reading books or taking photos. But by walking slowly, listening, and humbling themselves. Because on this island of the gods, knowledge doesn't only come from the head… but from the land, the air, and whispers in silence.
After half a day exploring the shady and familiar Denpasar, that afternoon they decided to head towards Canggu. Bli Komang had offered them a ride on his motorbike, but they chose to take online transportation. Riri wanted to observe how locals and tourists interacted in that famously crowded area. She said, "If Denpasar is the heart, maybe Canggu is the lungs—the place where the outside world enters, exits, and mixes."
The journey to Canggu felt like moving between two worlds. The streets slowly began to fill with motorbikes carrying surfboards, vans with hostel stickers, and private vehicles with license plates from outside the region. They passed rice fields, some of which had already been divided into villa plots, and small shops standing side by side with air-conditioned co-working spaces.
Marlon looked out the window.
"I can't say this is bad. But there must be a sense of loss for the locals here."
Romo added,
"Progress often comes with noise."
When they got off on one of the narrow streets leading to the Batubolong area, the road was already crowded. Cars crawled along. Some Western tourists passed by with sweaty faces and half-worn helmets, trying to remain relaxed despite the traffic jam. Along the sidewalk, rows of bohemian-style cafes, bars, and boutiques looked full of visitors.
They decided to sit at a small cafe called Pepita & Sons. The place was unique—there was a mini-library in the corner, the interior design was full of wood and climbing plants, and soft acoustic music flowed from the speakers. They chose a seat in the corner near the window.
"In a place like this, people forget they are still in Indonesia," Riri murmured.
"Or maybe… this is also part of Indonesia that is finding a new form," Marlon replied while ordering an iced coffee with milk.
Romo didn't say much. His eyes were busy observing his surroundings. Suddenly, he pointed towards a table in the corner near the bookshelf.
"Look, that girl. She's writing by hand, not on a laptop. Looks really serious."
A young woman, maybe in her early thirties, sat alone. Her long hair was casually tied up. She wore a Balinese cloth and a simple white top. In front of her, a notebook full of scribbles and a wooden pencil that looked worn. Her calm aura stood out in the bustling atmosphere.
Riri stood up.
"I want to say hello. Maybe she's a local who can tell us a lot."
With slow steps and a polite smile, Riri approached her.
"Excuse me… sorry to bother you. I saw you writing, it looks interesting."
The woman turned her head, smiling gently.
"Not at all. I'm happy someone said hello. My name is Sophie."
"I'm Riri. These are my friends Marlon and Romo. We're in Bali to learn."
Sophie nodded and closed her book.
"Learning about what?"
"About society. About balance. About good and evil," replied Marlon, who was now standing behind Riri.
Sophie chuckled softly.
"Big topics. And Bali can offer a lot, but it can also be confusing if your intentions are half-hearted."
Romo chimed in,
"We don't just want to see the beautiful things. We want to hear the voices that are rarely told."
Sophie nodded slowly. Her gaze was deep, as if weighing something heavy but necessary to convey.
"I'm writing a book about Balinese women who are missing from the narrative of development. About warungs (small traditional shops) that are displaced by cafes. About voices that don't make it to Instagram."
They were silent for a moment.
"May we read your writing?" Riri asked carefully.
"It's not finished yet. But I can tell you stories. It's just that, I don't know how ready you are to hear them."
"We are here to learn… not to feel comfortable," Marlon replied.
Sophie looked at them one by one. Then nodded.
"Alright. But don't just listen to me. Listen to the streets. Listen to the sea. And don't be afraid to ask yourselves questions."
Day was approaching dusk. The sound of crashing waves began to be heard from a distance. From behind the window, the sky of Canggu began to change color, reddish-orange, as if wrapping every unfinished story.
The meeting was unplanned. But they knew, like the previous encounters in Bali, perhaps nothing was truly a coincidence. And they were beginning to learn that everyone on this island was a guardian—a guardian of stories, a guardian of wounds, a guardian of meaning.
The woman looked up. Her gaze was gentle. A small smile appeared on her face.
"Actually, I'm writing a book. About self-healing… or more precisely, the journey to come home to oneself."
Marlon and Romo moved closer. They introduced themselves and eventually sat at the same table.
"Self-healing?" Marlon asked. "What do you mean? Like… meditation, or what?"
Sophie nodded slowly.
"Self-healing isn't one method. It's a journey of recognizing wounds, accepting them, and recovering. It can be through meditation, journaling, even crying without feeling weak. But the foundation is awareness—mindfulness."
Riri leaned forward.
"Is there a scientific basis for all that? Or is it more about spirituality?"
Sophie smiled.
"Both. For example, Jon Kabat-Zinn, the pioneer of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR), developed meditation methods that have been proven to help reduce stress, anxiety, and depression. Many journals have proven its benefits, such as those from the American Psychological Association."
Romo chimed in,
"But not everyone can sit still and meditate. Sometimes it actually makes them more restless."
"True," Sophie replied. "That's why healing isn't about a single method. It can also be through expressive writing. James Pennebaker's research shows that writing about emotional experiences for 15-20 minutes for several consecutive days can improve mental and physical health."
Marlon seemed to ponder.
"So… healing doesn't mean forgetting the wounds?"
Sophie shook her head.
"Quite the opposite. Healing is acknowledging the wounds. Greeting them. Then slowly learning to live with them. We never truly 'move on.' We just grow around them."
"That sounds very human," Riri murmured.
"And very tiring too," Romo added.
Sophie chuckled softly.
"That's why I say it's a journey. Sometimes we walk fast, sometimes we walk backward. But as long as we are willing to step forward, we are still alive."
"Some say, if we are too busy helping others, we forget to help ourselves," Marlon said.
"Exactly. That's known as compassion fatigue. It happens a lot to people who work in social fields. That's why Kristin Neff's concept of self-compassion is important. Learning to be compassionate towards yourself isn't selfish, but the foundation for staying sane."
The three of them exchanged glances.
"You seem to know what we're looking for," Riri said softly.
Sophie smiled.
"Sometimes the universe brings people together at the right time. But your task remains: don't just listen, practice. Self-healing isn't theory. It's practice, every day, for a lifetime."
Dusk began to fall slowly. The sky of Canggu was reddish-orange. The cafe lights began to turn on one by one, forming a warm atmosphere like a silent embrace.
Sophie looked at her notebook, then closed it.
"If you want to talk more deeply, tomorrow I'm joining a healing circle session in Ubud. Not too big, just people who are indeed looking for their way home. You can join, if you want."
They didn't answer immediately. But in silence, the three of them knew: this conversation would leave a deeper mark than they had anticipated.
The sky in Canggu grew dimmer. The sunlight slowly sank behind the rows of coconut trees and the neatly lined roofs of tropical buildings. The gentle sea breeze began to prickle the skin, carrying the salty aroma and the faint sound of crashing waves from a distance. Pepita & Sons Cafe remained alive—the clinking of cups, soft laughter, and acoustic indie music formed the backdrop for an increasingly deep conversation.
Sophie sipped her chamomile tea. Riri finished her espresso gelato, while Romo and Marlon alternately nibbled on pieces of chocolate cake they had impulsively ordered.
"Sophie," Marlon began, rubbing his unshaven chin, "I'm curious. Earlier you said self-healing can be through writing, meditation, even crying. But I've heard that some stand-up comedians also feel healed because they can laugh at themselves. Can that be called self-healing too?"
Sophie turned her head, her eyes sparkling. Like someone who was pleased to receive an unusual question.
"Oh yes, that's very interesting," she said, placing her cup down slowly. "Absolutely. There's even a term for it in psychology: humor as a coping mechanism."
"Do you know Tig Notaro?" Sophie continued. "She's a stand-up comedian who was diagnosed with breast cancer, and on stage, she actually told everything honestly and absurdly. Instead of making the audience feel sorry for her, she made everyone laugh—including herself."
Marlon nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! And I also watch comedians with physical limitations. Some use wheelchairs, some are partially blind. But they… actually turn that into funny material."
"That's a form of radical acceptance," Sophie added. "They don't deny their wounds or shortcomings. But they embrace them, then transform them into strength."
Romo chimed in, putting down his spoon.
"But… couldn't that actually be a way of avoiding? Laughing at the wound, but not really touching it?"
Sophie nodded slowly.
"It could be, of course. Just like people who joke too much to avoid serious conversations. Or people who are busy helping others so they don't have to look at the emptiness within themselves."
She looked at Romo with a warm expression.
"That's why healing is about balance. Are we truly present with that wound? Or are we just masking it with laughter?"
Riri added, her tone soft but sharp.
"So that means not everyone who looks strong is truly healed?"
"Exactly," Sophie replied. "Sometimes the people who make others laugh the most are the loneliest inside."
For a moment, no one spoke. The small sound of waves and the clinking of cups replaced their earlier laughter.
Marlon leaned back in his chair.
"I'm starting to think… maybe I've been like that too. Trying to make other people laugh, so I don't have to sit for too long with my own thoughts."
"We've all been there, Mar," Riri replied gently. "But that doesn't necessarily mean it's wrong. Maybe it's just a phase. One way to survive."
Sophie smiled.
"That's the beauty of being human. We can weave meaning from wounds. Even if the way is absurd: through laughter, jokes, or stand-up. Healing isn't a straight path. Sometimes it's a spiral, sometimes a zig-zag."
"And sometimes it takes the form of… a small stage with a mic and a spotlight," Marlon said with a wry smile.
They all chuckled softly.
The sun had completely set. The Balinese sky turned dark blue, adorned with the last streaks of orange on the horizon. The cafe lights reflected on the wooden table, forming a warm golden glow. Outside, the traffic of motorbikes and tourists was still dense, but it felt distant from their intimate conversation.
"Tomorrow in Ubud, yes?" Sophie asked, picking up her bag.
"Yes," Riri said firmly. "You don't mind these three idealists joining?"
Sophie laughed.
"You're the ones who need it the most. Those who think too much are usually the furthest from themselves."
Romo stood up, bowing slightly towards Sophie.
"Thank you for today. We rarely have conversations like this."
"You're welcome," Sophie replied. "Tomorrow we'll start another kind of journey. Ubud will welcome you in a different way."
And that night, they returned to their kost in Denpasar with heads full of thoughts—and hearts a little lighter.
That morning, the Denpasar sky was clear. The sun wasn't too hot yet, but its light had begun to reflect on the rooftops of the residents' houses and the small offerings lined up on the side of the road. The air carried a faint aroma of incense, mixed with the scent of coffee and bread from a small warung on the corner of the alley. Sophie arrived on her automatic motorbike, wearing a white linen shirt and a neatly tied Balinese cloth. She smiled and waved.
"Ready for Ubud?"
Marlon, Riri, and Romo were ready. Small bags on their backs, cloth hats, and expressions that were a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The journey began. They passed through the busy city streets, then entered a greener route. The scenery changed: from shops to terraced rice fields, from concrete buildings to small temples that appeared suddenly at bends in the road.
Tourist cars and local motorbikes overtook each other. The sound of horns occasionally punctuated the singing of birds and the rustling of the wind. On the left side of the road, stretches of rice fields with farmers carrying hoes could be seen, and on the right, occasional villas with modern tropical styles appeared.
"Look at that," Riri said, pointing out the window. "Such a contrast. On one side, farmers in sarongs and conical hats, on the other, tourists in yoga pants with iced coffee in hand."
Sophie smiled from the front seat.
"That's Ubud for you. A meeting place between the very traditional and the very modern. Sometimes they interfere with each other, but they also complement each other."
They arrived at a place somewhat hidden from the main road. The main building was like a large balé (traditional pavilion) made of wood and bamboo, surrounded by tall trees and the sound of trickling water from a small pond near the entrance. There was a simple sign on a white cloth hanging there: Healing Circle — A Space to Feel, Speak, and Breathe.
They sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, along with eight other people who came from various backgrounds. There was a blonde Westerner sitting quietly with his eyes closed, a middle-aged Balinese woman with a calm gaze, and a young man from Jakarta hugging a small pillow in his lap. The circle felt sacred yet warm.
Sophie opened the forum.
"We will start today without any pressure. Anyone can speak, or just listen. This is a place to be honest… with yourself."
A moment of silence. Then Romo slowly raised his hand. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his voice soft.
"I grew up in a very religious environment. Everything already had an answer. Every question had a limit. But when I studied philosophy in college, all of that was like being dismantled."
He took a breath.
"I began to learn that the world is not as simple as black and white. But when I started asking questions, I was accused of doubting my faith. Even though I just wanted to understand more deeply."
"And when I joined this research with my friends, I saw a reality that was even more complex. There are good people who are hated. There are those considered sinful but who are actually very loving."
He paused for a moment. His voice trembled slightly.
"I feel… empty. Like I've lost my home. But strangely, I haven't found a new one either."
Sophie looked at him gently.
"Sometimes home isn't a fixed place. But the courage to keep walking even without certainty."
Riri turned to Romo and placed her hand on his shoulder, softly.
"You're not alone, Mo. We're messed up too. The only difference is, we've long realized that we were never whole from the beginning."
The circle was silent for a moment. Then Sophie said,
"Thank you, Romo. That was very honest. And a wound that is acknowledged is the beginning of healing."
A woman across from them, who had been silent the whole time, shed a tear. A Western man began to clutch his small prayer beads. The energy in the room shifted. No one spoke, but no one felt alone.
Marlon glanced at Riri, then Romo, then Sophie. He felt this space was like a small, honest world. Without masks. Without debate.
"Can I share next?" Marlon asked softly.
Sophie nodded. And a new chapter began—about wounds, laughter, and the search for meaning.
The circle fell silent again after Romo finished speaking. Several participants looked like they were still processing, nodding slowly, or taking deep breaths. Sophie looked at Marlon, who had been sitting quietly with his fingers intertwined.
"Marlon… if you'd like to share, we're listening."
Marlon looked at the small fire in the center of the circle. The candlelight danced gently in the afternoon breeze. He took a breath, then began in a soft but clear voice.
"Initially… I thought I knew why I joined this research. I felt I had to prove myself. Not to anyone specific, but… well, maybe to the world. To the people who used to say I thought too much, or was too idealistic."
"When we started, I felt really enthusiastic. Riri and Romo were also fired up. We talked about ethics, truth, the gray areas of the world, and it all felt… big. It felt important."
He paused for a moment, then glanced at Romo and Riri. Both looked at him gently, listening with empathy.
"But the longer I do this, the more I encounter people's realities… I start to get confused. Is this really about finding the truth? Or do I just want to look smart? Or prove that I can 'uncover' something?"
Sophie leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle.
"What made you start to doubt it?"
"The people we meet… they're real. They have wounds, hopes, and ways of life that we can't judge as easily as theories in class. Sometimes I feel like we're spectators sitting in the balcony, judging a match without ever actually stepping onto the field."
He took a deep breath, his voice starting to tighten a little.
"And honestly, I'm starting to get tired. Not because of physical exhaustion, but… I'm not sure if what we're doing is really making a difference. What can be changed? The world continues as usual. The market is still noisy, people still live in dilemmas, and we… at most, we'll just create long notes that the lecturer reads, then forgets."
Riri slowly touched Marlon's arm, offering silent support. Romo bowed his head slightly, as if understanding the feeling perfectly.
"Sometimes I'm afraid… all of this is just my ego. I feel like a failure if I don't finish it. But I'm also afraid that even if I finish, I won't find anything. Won't change anything."
The atmosphere in the circle became very quiet. There was no sound of vehicles from outside. Only the rustling of wind through the bamboo and the soft chirping of crickets echoed from a distance.
Sophie spoke after a long pause.
"Marlon, you know, many researchers, artists, even teachers, have experienced the same thing. The question of meaning is part of the journey. Not the end of everything."
She continued softly but firmly.
"Sometimes… what has the most impact isn't the final result. But the change that occurs within you during the process."
Marlon looked at Sophie. His eyes were slightly teary, but he didn't cry. Riri then added,
"And don't forget one thing, Mar. This research isn't just about the world outside. But also the world within us. We are changing. We are learning. We are being more honest with ourselves. That's not a small thing."
Romo smiled faintly, then chimed in,
"If it was just about winning, we could have quit from the start. But if it's about understanding… we still have to keep going."
Sophie nodded slowly. The candle in the center of the circle remained calmly lit, like a symbol that even though the wind blew from all directions, there was a flame that endured.
"Thank you, Marlon. For your honesty. Today you planted a seed of understanding, within yourself… and in all of our hearts."
The circle no longer felt like a discussion forum. It had transformed into a sacred space, where wounds were opened without fear, and every word became a bridge between fragile but still hopeful hearts.