From the beginning of my time on the island, Bali felt like an incubator. A place where all the resources necessary for the development of those looking to do so –– at an affordable rate –– were available.
“Mama Bali” is one of the many nicknames foreigners have given to this place, because of its strict but loving character, who’s womb nourishes but will irremediably push you out into the world.
For people who have never experienced a supportive environment such as this, from the privilege of living at the edges of Balinese society, the allure of Bali is placed on top of a romanticized view. Influenced by more than a century of clever marketing, looking through the glass of their crystal castles out into their particular idea of paradise, the tourists who stay develop a false sense of belonging.
Having made little-to-no-effort to integrate themselves in the daily rituals of the place they now call home, and having realized how demanding these rituals can be, they quickly recede back into their echo chambers. Their hosts becoming more of a curiosity in the background of their lives, or a cheap hand for hire.
In any case, Mama Bali is more of a close aunt for most of us. While she might love, and care, and treat us as if we were one of her own children, it’s the Balinese themselves who –– for better or worse –– get to stay under her shawl. While it’s easy for us to jump on a plane and leave Bali behind, most of our cousins will have no option but stay back.
This is why I try to be careful with the way I express myself about Bali and my position here.
As much of an incubator as it felt during my early days, it’s important to point out the circumstances that allowed for this to happen: the exploitation of a corrupt immigration system, and a privileged access to circles that most locals could only dream of, as well as many more advantages that the mere status as a foreigner provides.
It’s easy to love a place when you’re not bounded by its social contracts.
Wherever there is an exploit to be benefitted from, there will be people doing so. It’s not that what bothers me, but the claims of love and ownership about a place we’re mostly only extracting from.
I have experienced this in the way people talk to me about Mexico –– an idyllic place where life is nothing but joy, delicious food and welcoming people –– while millions of paisanos and I have struggled our way out.
There’s a reason why the prospect of leaving Bali so terrifies me, yet at the same time energizes me. Having been out of Mexico for more than a decade, having benefitted from my privileged status as a so-called expat –– having been nourished by Mama Bali’s embrace –– I’m ready to accept my dual role as the beneficiary of and the benefited from, cause and effect.
I’m ready to pay the price to stay.