The Island of The Gods

The last time I left Bali, I cried.

I remember looking out the window as I left and saying to myself, next time I come back, I'm not going to have to leave.

Somewhere along the way, my heart completely fell in love with Indonesia. Not just with Bali or the waves, but with the way my life flows when I'm on this side of the world. There is a version of myself here that I really love.

Coming back this time felt strangely familiar. The second I stepped outside—the heat, the chaos, scooters weaving through traffic, the smell of incense in the streets—it felt like I had picked up exactly where I left off.

But more than anything, I couldn't wait to get back in the water.

Soon, life started revolving around the ocean again.

Coffee before sunrise. Boards strapped to the scooter. Salty hair for the rest of the day. Checking the tides, wind and swell instead of the time. Waking up with the sun and spending almost every hour until it goes down outside.

It's a completely different rhythm of life.

At home, I can get so caught up in my world—working, hustling, being glued to my phone and social media, always thinking about what I should be doing next. I try to practice gratitude no matter where I am, for the good, the bad and the ugly. But something happens to me on this side of the world.

Gratitude feels almost abundant.

I'll be driving down the road with my board strapped to the scooter, sitting in the ocean waiting for a wave or meeting someone whose life looks completely different from mine, and I'll have these random moments where I think, I can't believe this is my life.

My soul feels on fire here.

I feel inspired to create, to explore and to keep building the life I want—but Indonesia also reminds me that creating that life means actually being present enough to live it.

And just as Bali started feeling familiar again, we left for Sumatra.

Back to Raw Indonesia

Krui feels like stepping into another world.

Bali has the traffic, restaurants, shops, beach clubs and busy streets. Western culture has undeniably made its mark there.

Krui is different.

The further you drive, the quieter everything gets. Jungle, tiny villages, stretches of coastline and waves you've spent hours looking at on maps suddenly appearing in front of you.

This is the kind of travel I love most—the kind where you don't really know what the day is going to look like when you wake up.

Things move slower here. There are fewer distractions and so little reason to rush.

Wake up. Check the waves. Surf. Eat. Rest. Find another wave. Repeat.

It's raw, it's beautiful and there are so many damn waves.

But the waves here also scare me sometimes.

When the swell picks up, everything changes. The waves get bigger and more powerful, and a lot of them break over shallow reef. Every once in a while, I find myself sitting exactly where I don't want to be, watching a massive wall of water coming toward me and knowing it's probably about to land directly on my head.

There's always that first moment of panic.

But being out here has made me think a lot about the difference between fear and panic.

Panic is paralyzing. Fear doesn't have to be.

I've started telling myself, fear limits growth.

Then I count slowly to ten.

I paddle toward the wave strong and controlled, focusing on my breathing instead of everything that could go wrong.

Sometimes I punch through the back.

Sometimes I absolutely don't.

But when I come back up, the fear almost always turns into excitement. I just did something that scared me. I handled it. And then I paddle back out wanting another wave.

That's one of the things I love most about surfing here. I'm constantly being challenged physically and mentally, but I'm also learning how much more capable I am when I don't allow fear to make the decision for me.

And then there are the quiet moments.

Driving through a tiny village after a surf. Sitting outside as the sun goes down. Talking to someone whose upbringing couldn't be more different from mine. Looking around and realizing just how far away from home I am.

Those are the moments that slow me down.

Traveling through places like Krui makes me think about where I came from, how I was raised, who raised me and how many opportunities I've been given. It makes me appreciate my life at home while simultaneously making me want to see even more of the world.

There are parts of Indonesia you simply don't experience if you only go to Bali.

This is one of them.

It's imperfect, untouched and real. It's the kind of place that makes the world feel huge again—and somehow makes life feel incredibly simple at the same time.

Ocean. People. Food. Adventure. Gratitude.

Maybe that's why I keep coming back to this side of the world.

It reminds me how little I actually need to feel completely alive.

The last time I left Indonesia, I promised myself I'd come back differently.

Now I'm here again—back in the water, back to chasing waves, back to waking up excited about where the day might take me.

But this time, that promise means more than simply coming back. I'm putting in the work to create a life that allows me to stay. I'm looking for opportunities, building my brand and figuring out how to make a life on this side of the world more than just something I get to visit.

I don't know exactly what that will look like yet, and I think that's part of the adventure.

For now, I'm building it one day at a time—in a place that continues to make me feel more inspired, grateful and alive than anywhere else.

Until the next adventure,
4Ever Young x