on becoming an old asian lady

A few specific smells and sounds are quintessentially Bali to me. Wafting incense, bonfires (of burning trash), temple chanting, and rake brooming. The latter I used to associate specifically with little old Asian ladies. Every morning like clockwork, they emerge onto the street, hunched over, flicking their inconveniently short bundles of coconut sticks that had been fashioned into brooms. Scrape, scrape, scraping on the pavement. I never really understood why all the raking (it seemed kind of obsessive to me)… until I moved into this villa. I now have a Plumeria tree that, all day, every day, sheds pieces of itself onto my yard. So much so that it’s a wonder it has any leaves or flowers left on its branches. Every morning, I collect the newly dropped flowers for a bowl that sits on my bathroom sink (they’re so fragrant), and as I’m contorted into a U-shape raking up plumeria leaves with my coconut broom, it’s clear that I’ve turned into an old Asian lady.

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Chop wood, carry water. This seems to be the theme of my new era, and honestly, I’m here for it. There’s something ultra satisfying about projects that require the use of my body, and not just my mind. It’s quite a contrast going from living in a hotel where everything was taken care of, to a home with 3000 square feet of villa and garden to tend to. I’m domestic goddessing my ass off and couldn’t be happier about it.

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