I was browsing thru the Singapore Sun Festival site then I saw this shortlisted entry in the Regional Travel Writing Competition : Asia Through My Eyes. Just thought of sharing since it was so beautiful to me.

Bali- The Evolution of Love by sarongskirts

The waft of evening breeze brought with it the salty tang of the sea and the delicate trace of
frangipanis. I closed my eyes as the familiar cocktail of scents grazed my skin, and for a
disconcerting moment, I felt like the sixteen-year-old who was visiting Bali for the first time.

They say you never forget your first love. Even though it has been five years since my love
affair with Bali began, some memories never quite fade.

I remember the mysterious Balinese air that spoke of contentment and an underlying
spirituality.

I remember the gilded sunlight that peeked through the leaves of frangipani trees to cast
intriguing shadows on the ground.

I remember the intense green of rice terraces set against a solemn backdrop of wise
mountains.

I remember the temples, both quaint and grand, that sat along the road, or weaved amongst
the tropical forests.

I remember the over-spilling sidewalks, and the hive of tourist activity all day long.

Most of all, I remember the Balinese with their ready smiles and warm hospitality.

I remember, vividly, a vocally impaired young souvenir peddler I met at Kuta Square. His
toothy grin was sincere, even though I had rejected his goods, and we spent a minute miming
a conversation amidst the jostling crowds.

Resistless against such charm, I fell in love. Not with him, but with the invulnerable
tranquility of an island untouched by life’s unpleasantries.

Bali was my teenage epitome of paradise.

My shock upon hearing about the bombings in October 2002 was indescribable. Having
returned from Bali barely four months ago, it was inconceivable to imagine the restful
paradise in a state of destruction. Why Bali? That was my only coherent thought as I watched
the news. Why was the harmless island chosen as the victim of inhumanity?

Anxiety gripped my young heart when I found out that a bomb had erupted in Kuta Square,
and I prayed that my peddler friend made it through alive. Yet, I knew that the ache in my
heart was inconsequential as compared to the pain of the many who had lost their loved ones
in the tragedy.

When a second round of blasts shook Bali three years later, I was furious and worried. I
worried if Bali was strong enough to withstand the repeated stabs at its tourist economy, and
if the island would be able to rise again from the aftermath of terror.

In search of answers, I finally made a trip back in December 2006.

Returning to Bali was like returning to the embrace of a lover who was finally home from
war. Yet, the years apart have fostered a hardness I was unaccustomed to. The innocent face
of the lover I thought I knew so well was now marred by the desperation to survive.

Sidewalks, once overcrowded with boisterous holidaymakers, were now filled with local
touters at every nook and cranny relentlessly begging for sales.

Restaurants, once teeming with starving tourists, were now eerily empty. Waiters, once
worked to their bones, now sat idly to watch time creep by.

Market stalls, once brimming with activity, were now lifeless; and a layer of dust had settled
over goods left unsold for far too long. The shopkeepers, once earnestly friendly, now wore a
hint of desperation in their eyes as they grabbed at every passer-by to mercilessly cajole a
sale.

A bittersweet sensation of homecoming clutched my heart as I took in the familiar warmth
and unfamiliar cold. Seeing how the bustling tourist hub of my memories had transformed
into a ghost town chilled me to the bone.

How could I love a paradise I no longer recognized?

Finally caving in to a persistent tour salesman right outside my hotel on Kuta Beach, I took a
trip to Tanah Lot on my last day to catch the famed sunset, and chanced upon a Balinese
temple procession.

Chattering and laughter filled the evening with an air of festivity as the congregation snaked
toward the cliff-top temple. Local women competently balanced overflowing baskets of fruit
and flower offerings atop their heads, while the relatively unburdened men looked on and
smiled.

Gracefully, they paid their respects to the Gods. I watched mesmerized, as serene smiles lit
their tired faces. For the first time on my return trip, I saw not guarded desperation, but
instead a glimpse of the vivacious beauty I remembered so fondly. I realized then that the
attacks have not destroyed Bali, but have instead uncovered the hidden strength of the
community.

In the magic hour of the fading twilight, I fell in love all over again. This time around, I lost
my heart not to the untouched perfection whose loss I had mourned; but to the resilience of
the island and its undying belief in faith.

I remember the travel plans to Bali circa 2005 that was warranted only a faint glimpse of imagination before some exams or another took hold of our minds for longer. But I remember our eager chattering mouths about Surabayan Marita being our tour guide and renting a vehicle to drive from her hometown to Bali. I wonder how she is now. Last I heard, she is pursuing medicine in Indonesia. And the lack/inconvenience of getting Internet connection prevented her from contacting the ones she left behind in Singapore. Or maybe it's just another case of faded friendship despite memories tucked safely in a corner of my mind.

But anyhow, am looking forward to the Langkawi trip in December with some friends. May there be more happy memories to come.