Turning 35 in Bali: A Birthday of Transformation
Eight years ago, I dreamed of spending my birthday in Bali. I had booked a one-way ticket from India, believing it was finally going to happen. But plans fell through, and Bali remained on my bucket list—a place I longed for but never quite reached.
This year, that dream became reality.
Birthdays have always been difficult for me to navigate. Something about celebrating myself never felt quite right, and another year closer to death never seemed like something worth having a party over. But turning 35 felt different. It carried a weight I couldn’t quite name, a feeling that I was stepping into something new.
I woke up early after barely six hours of sleep, tired but determined to make the day intentional. I had booked an Airbnb experience that included a trip to a holy water temple for a purification ceremony, a visit with a local healer, and a few other activities. I didn’t want to set any expectations since they usually lead to disappointment, but I hoped the day would unfold with meaning.
By 8:02 AM, I was standing outside my villa, scanning the road for my driver. No car, no sign of life. My stomach clenched. Was I getting scammed? Was I about to spend my birthday alone with nothing to do? My mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario, the old familiar narrative of being let down and left behind.
Then I heard a voice.
“Eve?”
I turned to see a Balinese man standing nearby. My guide, Gede, had been waiting for me the whole time. Funny how the mind plays tricks, how quickly it latches onto fear. Maybe things do work out. Maybe I just need to trust a little more.
A Journey Through Ritual and Reflection
Our first stop was a local market, vibrant with color and movement. Women moved between stalls filled with flowers, fruit, and fragrant herbs. Gede explained that Balinese women wake up early to gather what they need for the day and then spend the rest of it cooking and caring for their families.
We picked out some fruit and gathered flower baskets for the temple. At some point, I casually mentioned that it was my birthday, but Gede didn’t acknowledge it. I figured he just didn’t care, which was fine—I wasn’t expecting a celebration, just a day of experiences that felt meaningful.
Holy Waters
The drive to the water temple took about forty minutes. As we arrived, I was immediately struck by the sight of Balinese women balancing large offering baskets on their heads, walking gracefully toward the temple grounds. Gede handed me a red and gold sarong, and we made our way down a steep flight of stone stairs. The air was thick with humidity, the jungle around us lush and alive.
The temple was breathtaking, tucked away in a space that felt sacred, untouched. Gede explained that each fountain had a different purpose, a different energy. As part of the ritual, I was instructed to meditate first, setting my intentions for what I wanted to release and what I wanted to call in.
I sat with my offering basket, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. The scent of incense filled the air, the sound of rushing water surrounded me. I asked for forgiveness—for myself, for the people I had hurt, even for the ones who had hurt me. I prayed for health and safety for my family, my friends, my teachers. I asked for clarity, for strength, for my body to heal. I asked to be released from whatever was keeping me stuck, so I could step into the version of myself that I knew I was meant to be.
One by one, I stepped under each stream of water, letting it pour over me, imagining all the trauma, grief, resentment, and self-doubt washing away. The water smelled clean, almost crystalline. Gede had been quietly taking photos the entire time, and later, when I looked through them, I saw something in myself—something raw, something open, something ready.
An Unexpected Reading
After changing back into dry clothes, we made our way to a small outdoor seating area where chickens wandered freely, and tables were scattered with cups of colored markers. A woman approached me, handed me a mandala coloring page, and told me to fill it in while I waited for the healer.
I had no idea what kind of arts and crafts project I had just signed up for, but I went with it. I picked a sunflower design and carefully filled in the intricate details, losing myself in the process.
When the healer called me over, she introduced herself as Yoga, which felt oddly fitting. I told her my name and that I teach yoga, but nothing more. She studied my mandala and told me that, based on the colors I chose, I was complicated but not too much. She said I make others happy but not myself. She repeated this in different ways for a long time, as if it was the one thing I needed to understand.
Then she moved on to my palm reading. She told me I was intuitive and needed to trust myself more. That if I learned to love myself, I would find two lucky loves this year. That my future husband is someone I already know. That I would be successful in spiritual business, possibly have a business in India, and that I have a high chance of moving to Bali. She mentioned that kids were fifty-fifty but that adoption was a strong possibility.
She told me I would never have to worry about money and that I could live to one hundred—though at seventy-seven, I might face a genetic health issue if I don’t take care of myself. “The universe needs you,” she said.
“The universe needs you,” she said.
She told me I have many gifts, that I could make money through music, but warned me not to be too trusting. People may not always have my best interest at heart. She mentioned that some people in my life could be two-faced—something I already knew but didn’t necessarily want to hear.
There was a lot more. So much information. (Thankfully, I recorded the session.) She spent nearly 45 minutes with me, which I wasn’t expecting. Before I left, she told me that meditation—especially meditation on water—is crucial for me. She encouraged me to spend as much time as possible by the ocean. Before I left, she gave me the name of a temple by the ocean that I should visit.
It felt like a full Eat, Pray, Love moment. I wonder if any of it will come true. She was eerily accurate about some things, despite knowing next to nothing about me. I guess time will tell. Maybe one day, I’ll look back and say, Holy shit. (It usually happens exactly like that.)
A Coffee Plantation & A Furry Surprise
We made our way back to the car and took a short drive to the next stop—a coffee plantation. Now, I don’t even drink coffee, but I figured this was more about the experience.
Plus, they had tea available, so why not?
I was greeted by a small guide who walked me through the plantation, pointing out the different herbs and plants used to flavor their teas—turmeric, ginger, vanilla, lemon, lemongrass, and even avocado and coffee beans. Everything was grown right there on the land.
Then came the highlight of the tour: meeting a luwak—a strange, oversized ferret-looking animal that poops literal coffee beans. Yes, poops them. Apparently, this process makes the coffee incredibly strong, smooth, and expensive.
I also got to watch a local woman roasting coffee beans over an open fire, the old-fashioned way. There was something so simple and sacred about it. We exchanged smiles, and on a whim, I handed her my Summer Fridays iced coffee lip balm. She put it on immediately, her face lighting up with joy. She looked so beautiful, and I was happy to share that little moment with her.
Next, I was led to a tea and coffee tasting. I sat at a rustic picnic table overlooking the breathtaking rice fields and plantation. It was one of those moments where everything felt still and perfect. The kind of moment you wish you could freeze in time. Before me was a flight of six or seven different teas and coffees. I never drink coffee, but damn—these were so good. Even the teas had an incredible depth of flavor, made richer with coconut sugar.
My favorites? The lemon, lemongrass, and mangosteen teas. Absolutely unreal.
And, despite my usual avoidance of caffeine, I even sipped on the coffees. The vanilla and coconut flavors were especially delicious. If all coffee tasted like this, I might actually start drinking it. (Which I shouldn’t. But still.)
After the tasting, we took some photos before heading to the gift shop, where I stocked up on teas, incense, perfume, and lotion. By the time we made it back to the car, it was already 1 PM, and we were on our way to a restaurant for lunch—closer to my villa.
A Shift in the Story: From Doubt to Gratitude
On the way to lunch, the clouds began forming in the sky. Up until this point, I had been pretty lucky—no rain, despite it being the rainy season—but I knew it was bound to downpour at some point. My phone battery was nearly dead from all the pictures, and as the exhaustion set in, so did my thoughts. Everything had been going so well, yet suddenly, I felt uneasy. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the constant movement, or maybe it was just that familiar feeling of spiraling.
As we drove past beautiful rice terraces, I made a mental note to come back and explore them another day. But in the moment, all I could think about was how tired and overstimulated I felt. When we finally arrived at an outdoor restaurant, Gede left me to eat alone, and I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. The waiter handed me a pre-fixed menu—probably part of a deal with tour companies—but when I let them know I was vegan and gluten-free, they were surprisingly accommodating, offering to make me a simple meal of vegetables and tofu.
I sipped on unsweetened tea and opened the book I had just bought at the metaphysical store, Tantra of the Yoga Sutras. The food arrived quickly, but to my disappointment, the tofu was fried. Not a huge deal, but after drinking coffee and tea with sugar, I was already feeling off. I asked if they could steam it instead, and once again, they were gracious and accommodating.
As I waited, I checked my messages and saw an update from the prenatal yoga training I had planned to take in Rishikesh after Bali. It was full. My stomach dropped. It wasn’t just about the training—it was the fact that my whole vision of how things would flow after Bali suddenly didn’t seem possible. Without that training, I wouldn’t have a smooth transition back to India.
At the same time, the Thai massage training in India was pressuring me for a decision, reminding me they had a waitlist. I felt the anxiety creeping in. My food arrived, and instead of reading, I mindlessly started eating, slipping into an old habit. Not that eating was bad, but the way I was doing it—dissociating, eating with my hands, standing up, not even tasting the food—was a pattern I recognized. Overwhelmed and overstimulated, I wasn’t present at all.
I boxed up the rest of the tofu and fruit and was ready to head back. And then, like clockwork, it started pouring. The sky, once bright and clear, opened up in a monsoon. Watching the rain, I started questioning everything—how I would be able to do and see everything in Bali if the weather was so unpredictable. Maybe I should just go back to India for the Thai massage training and return to Bali in April for the next vegan chef and raw dessert training? It would be expensive. My parents would have to get on board. But maybe, just maybe, I could make it work.
As I sat there lost in thought, I saw something in the corner of my eye. The restaurant staff was gathering with a sign, singing Happy Birthday. Music blasted, their voices filled the space, and I instinctively assumed they were celebrating someone else. Here I was, alone, stressed, caught up in my head, and someone else was being celebrated.
Then I saw Gede. He was with them. They were coming toward me.
A plate of fruit, a candle, a chorus of voices singing just for me. I felt a flood of emotions—embarrassment, relief, joy, appreciation, gratitude. It was such a small gesture, but it meant everything. I had assumed he didn’t hear me when I mentioned it was my birthday, that it wasn’t significant to anyone but me. But he had heard. He had cared.
Sitting there, taking it all in, I realized how quickly my mind had dismissed my own importance. I had been so ready to believe the narrative that my birthday didn’t matter, that I didn’t deserve to be celebrated. But that wasn’t true. I do matter. I do deserve to be celebrated. I am loved. And this is the new subscription I’m on.
A Return to Softness
When I returned to my villa around 3:30 PM, I was met with another surprise.
On my bed was a beautiful arrangement of petals spelling out “Happy Birthday.” Then, just as I was about to settle in, I received a call from the villa staff. When I stepped onto the deck, I was met by two of the men, holding a cake and singing Happy Birthday.
I felt overwhelmed in the best way possible.
I could feel something shifting inside me. Maybe it was the relaxation, maybe it was the purification ceremony, maybe it was just the simple act of allowing myself to receive. I almost cried. My heart softened. My whole being softened.
I had a free 60-minute massage scheduled for 4:30 PM and asked if I could extend it to 90 minutes. They told me it wouldn’t be a problem and that there would be no extra charge. When the masseuse arrived, I asked to keep the door open so I could hear the sounds of nature and the water fountain outside.
The massage itself was good, but not great. She was a bit inexperienced, and I had to keep reminding her to be gentle on my right shoulder. Over the past year, my shoulder and neck have been injured over and over again by bodyworkers who were too rough or not careful enough. At one point, I tensed up, my mind racing, wondering if she had just reinjured me. I could feel the PTSD creeping in.
This is another narrative I need to shift, but one I have to be careful with. I need to listen to my body. I need to be mindful of who touches my shoulder and not let anyone go too deep or too rough—especially during Thai massage training.
Dinner at the Treehouse
After the massage, I sat down and started looking into the logistics of coming back to Bali for the next training. Flights, Airbnbs, tuition, plus the two weeks I hadn’t officially planned for yet. It wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t impossible either. I decided I’d bring it up to my mom when she woke up.
I responded to some birthday messages, zoned out for a while, then took a shower and started getting ready for dinner. By the time I looked at the clock, it was already 8 PM, and the restaurant I wanted to go to closed at 10. I had a meeting with Liz at 9 PM, so I had to move quickly.
I put on a touch of makeup and slipped into the ethereal white outfit I had bought in Mumbai. I looked like a fairy goddess. Truly. I couldn’t wait to wear this outfit for my photoshoot—whenever that would actually happen since I kept postponing it because of the rain.
I booked a Grab and headed to the restaurant.
Fifteen minutes down a dark, winding road later, I arrived at Akasha. I didn’t know what to expect—maybe a lively atmosphere, some energy—but instead, I walked into a space that was practically empty. The place was huge, like a giant modern-meets-retro treehouse. Absolutely beautiful, with big cozy couches, open-air seating, and a calm, expansive energy. It felt like a space designed to be experienced, not just visited.
I ordered a drink and set up my iPad to call my mom. At first, I had ordered a margarita, but I second-guessed it and switched to a butterfly pea mocktail instead. Maybe I’d have a little bit of a gummy later, but I wasn’t feeling like drinking. The menu wasn’t fully vegan, but there were plenty of vegan and gluten-free options. I really wanted the pizza but, knowing I hadn’t eaten much all day, I also ordered a Caesar salad to balance it out.
Everything was amazing. Aesthetic. Perfect.
I FaceTimed my mom while eating, and it felt special—like we actually got to have my birthday dinner together, even with the distance. I told her about my thoughts on extending my trip and doing all the trainings I had in mind. I could see the hesitation when it came to the money, but I think she understood. If I’m going to come home and build this business for real, I should be fully trained and certified in everything I need as soon as possible so I can get it off the ground. In the end, she gave me her approval.
Right after, I hopped on my call with Liz. It was nice to chat on my birthday, especially reflecting on how everything was falling apart when I first moved to Florida, and now, it’s all coming together in a way I couldn’t have predicted. The breakdown before the breakthrough.
I ordered a hookah, which felt like a treat. I had been craving a cigarette lately—not in a bad way, not in a self-destructive way, just in a “damn, it would be nice to smoke something” kind of way. Hookah was the perfect compromise. I ate half of my food, got a to-go box, and around 10:15 PM, they essentially kicked me out since they were closing.
On the way back to the villa, I started to feel nauseous, probably from smoking the hookah too fast since they were rushing me out. When I got back to my room, I found myself mindlessly eating my leftovers.I don’t know if I was starving, emotional, or just on autopilot, but I ate the rest of the pizza, some salad, spirulina granola, a couple of tomatoes with burrata, and a few bites of desserts. It wasn’t bad food. In fact, it was all healthy and nourishing—but the way I ate it? Standing up. Dissociating. Mixing random foods late at night. Not present.
It’s a pattern. One I recognize.
At least it wasn’t bingeing and purging, which in itself is a miracle. But it was still disordered eating. My belly hurt, but I still wanted to keep eating, so I started snacking on sugar-free Ricola cough drops—which, of course, ended up upsetting my stomach because they have laxative effects. I scrolled on my phone, completely checked out, and before I knew it, it was 3 AM. Finally, I got myself to bed.
Reflections on a Perfectly Imperfect Day
As I lay there, my stomach aching from a mix of mindless eating and exhaustion, my mind drifted through the events of the day.
It was perfect.
Not in the picture-perfect, flawless kind of way, but in the real kind of perfect. The kind where things don’t go as planned, but they unfold exactly as they’re meant to.
There were moments that reminded me I still have work to do—with food, with self-worth, with letting go of expectations. But there were also moments that shined a light on how far I’ve come.
Eight years ago, I dreamed of spending my birthday in Bali. It felt impossible then—something just out of reach. And yet, today, I lived it. I spent my 35th birthday in the place that had been calling me for years, surrounded by beauty, rituals, and the unexpected kindness of strangers.
I faced my fears of being alone, of not being celebrated, of feeling unworthy. And time and time again, I was shown the opposite. The Balinese guide who surprised me with a birthday fruit plate and candle, the villa staff who brought me a cake, the massage upgrade at no extra charge, the small but meaningful ways the universe whispered: you are loved, you are seen, you are important.
I am learning to unsubscribe from old narratives. The ones that tell me I don’t deserve to be celebrated. The ones that say I am not worthy of love. The ones that keep me stuck in old patterns, old fears, old wounds.
I have so much to give—through my yoga, my poetry, my music, my touch, my words, my art. And I know, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning.
This life, this dream—it’s happening.
I am here.
I am living it.
This birthday was a turning point. It was proof that I am worthy of celebration, that I am loved, that I do not have to do this life alone. I am grateful—to Kali for guiding me through destruction and rebirth, to my family, my friends, my teachers, and even strangers who showed me love today. I am grateful to myself for never giving up, for continuing to step forward, even when I don’t know what’s ahead.
Turning 35 feels significant. It feels like a threshold, a rebirth, a new chapter that I am ready to step into fully. I have so much to give—through my yoga, my poetry, my music, my words, my art. And I know, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning.
This life, this dream—it’s happening. I am here. I am living it. And I am ready for whatever comes next.
With love & gratitude,
EvE aka kali grayce
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