Estos días en Hacienda Xcanatun me recordaron la importancia de la pausa y la presencia, experiencias como la clase de aromaterapia o yoga me permitieron reconectar conmigo misma y dejar por un momento de voltear tanto al pasado y futuro centrándome en el hoy. La calma de la suite, el sonido de la naturaleza y pasar tiempo en su espectacular alberca fueron medicina al alma para regresar renovada.

Along the beach, I saw a granny and her grandson lighting lanterns and floating them onto the water. She whispered wishes into the paper while he held the flame steady. They did not speak to each other, but the air was full of tenderness. Love comes in many forms - it does not always need grand gestures - sometimes all it needs are two steady hands, a shared purpose and a common understanding.

In Hongcun, a young girl was helping her grandmother sweep fallen leaves. Every time the wind blew them into a mess, she would giggle and start all over. That small act stirred something within me. All my life, I have tried exerting control over everything, even those beyond my reach. Watching her made me realise that maybe it’s okay to just begin again and embrace joy in the process of trying.

I saw an old couple sitting side by side facing Xihu, watching the lanterns float by. They did not speak. She leaned her head on his shoulder and his arm was around her waist. With the cane in his right hand, he stood up with great difficulty and then supported his wife using his left. It was not romance - it was companionship, strengthened by time. It reminded me what lasting love looks like.

At Lijiang, I watched a calligrapher as he stood writing the Chinese word for “home” - 家. His hand trembled slightly, but the strokes were strong and certain. I asked how long he has been honing his craft. He smiled and said, “All my life, and I am still trying to write it well.” I realized that maybe we are all the same – kindred spirits learning to make sense of what home meant in our hearts.

The laughter of four elderly resonated in the wind as they played mahjong. Beside them, ladies practiced taichi, swaying their arms gracefully and moving their feet in unison. Nearby, others bent over tables practicing calligraphy with brushes steady as heartbeats, their ink-strokes celebrating Tang poems of yesteryears. For a brief moment, I was part of a culture thousand of years in the making.

Oh yes! One perfect evening, returning from dinner, we saw tiny blue lights dancing on the beach. Experiencing bioluminescent plankton for the first time, I felt the quiet, magical power of nature. The glow shimmered before our eyes, as it has for ages.
The next day, we took a catamaran trip and saw even more glowing waters. Thank you, Dhawa Ihuru, for this wonder and for protecting our planet.

While exploring one of the nearby villages at Buahan, a child handed me a half-eaten bun, sticky and warm. When I hesitated, his grandma smiled and said, “He is learning how to share.” That small act stirred something within me. I have always thought giving was born from abundance - but maybe it simply means offering what we love, freely and with happiness, without expecting anything in return.

A padi farmer at Ubud was soaking his feet in a basin of warm water, his soles a brutal landscape of calluses and cracked skin. This changed my understanding of journey from a romantic idea to that of a physical, painful truth. Every grain we eat, every path we take, is paved by someone else’s sacrifice and perseverance, and now, I tread more purposefully in life with an attitude of gratitude.