Talks

"Mommy? Can you tell me a story?" My head just hit the pillow when my six-year-old daughter asked me the same question every single night. I was so sleepy. All that I could think of was bed. So I told her, "Okay, I'm gonna tell you five stories of my life that happens on five beds."The first story, the first bed, is my childhood bed. It's the bed where my mom and I would cuddle every night, and she would tell me bedtime stories. But my mom was always so exhausted after a long working day that she would always tell me incoherent stories. And I was always correcting her. "Hey, Mommy, it's not right. The person you talk about now already died. How come she came back to life?" Little did I know at the time that people we thought were gone can and do come back.The second bed was a death bed. Nineteen-year-old me was lying on an operation bed, legs wide open. "It's done. You can get up and go now," the doctor said. One month before this, I was a sophomore at the top university in China. And I had just been elected as the president for the biggest association in college. I also started my first love affair ever with an English lawyer. For the first time in my life, I invited a man between my legs and had wild ecstatic sex in the heat of which I unconsciously created a baby. This man, who asked me to marry him few weeks ago, never saw me again since he knew I was pregnant. I stumbled out of the operation room into the arms of my mom, who was trying to hold her tears back. I knew something between my legs has changed forever. I went from top student to scandal. A shame for my family and my community.However, as my good girl mask got torn up with my yoni that got torn in the abortion, the old me died with my baby, and the new me was coming into being. So I ran away from classrooms into the wild, into my wildness to find myself and to heal. I started doing yoga and qigong daily. I went to nature adventure clubs. I became a vegan. I left my promising career opportunities in China and went to Europe in search of a new landscape, a new lifestyle, a new identity. People said, "Sometimes you have to leave in order to come back."After five years of world travel, I came back to China, the land where I was born, and I found myself on the third bed. Twenty-four-year-old me lying on the small bed at home, legs wide open again. Only this time to give birth to my baby girl. It's seven long hours after my water broke. I've done everything the midwife told me to do. I held onto the thigh of my husband and the bed. I groaned. I pushed. I was exhausted. My baby was not coming. My husband and my friends, who had been cheering me on for the last seven hours, had now become quiet. "It's too long. She needs to be taken to the hospital," the midwife said. All my life, I've shut myself down, swallowed, digested, and accepted everything. But at this moment, I knew if I don't speak up, there's no way I can birth this baby. I would die in the hospital.So I finally had the courage to say, "I don't think the midwife's way works for me." A woman came to my ears, and she said, "If so, just do it your way." I felt blood rush back to my veins again while I felt still weak. So I asked with the last ounce of energy I still had, "Could you please gimme some encouragement?" And now they all went, "You are doing great. You're amazing. I can see the baby's hand already!" I took a long deep breath and one last roar. It felt like the biggest poop of my life just got squeezed out of my yoni. And there was my baby—only she's shining like gold, and she smells great.I'm so happy that I gave a much better birth to my baby than my mom to me. My mom had such a traumatic birth experience with me that she thought I would go through exactly the same. Looks like I defied her prophecy.Soon I realized I was married to a man who was exactly like my dad—abusive, violent, dependent on me for money, gave me sexual trauma. And that made me feel worse than a prostitute in my own marriage. I was determined not to repeat the history of my mom. So I left my husband, my job, my house, everything I had in China again and went to Europe to heal myself. In the worst days in Europe, I was picking up horse shit for $10 per hour—one arm with my baby sucking my breast. And I remember five years ago, I was the top student in Cambridge, hanging out with Oxford and Harvard friends who got $1 million job offers right after graduation. And now here I was—jobless, penniless, homeless, a single mom. I was the most unattractive woman I knew.Until I met Barack. I was pouring my heart out desperately on the piano in the museum when Barack, a single dad from Turkey, walked in with his son and saw me. Two months later, we were in bed in his flat, having the most epic savage cathartic sex of our lives. I was having mind-blowing heart and ass opening, bed rattling, neighbors complaining, and soul stretching liquid explosions of orgasms of my life.In that worst period of my life, outside of that bed of orgasm, I felt totally worthless—ugly, the smelliest piece of shit. But Barack? He fucked the shit out of me. He penetrated me to the core and unleashed that lioness that'd been sleeping there all along. And he told me, "You gave me the best sex in my life." And later, only later, I knew from friends that actually every man says that to every woman, but I chose to believe him. And I thought, maybe I'm really good at this. So I got out of bed, went to my desk, and wrote down every single detail of the orgasms and pains of my yoni. And I shared it on social media.Now, this is such a taboo in China that it went viral very soon. So I created my holistic sexuality course for women in China. And in one year, I went from zero to my first one thousand clients. From zero to my first six figures. I got on TV, in newspapers, magazines. My business was growing wild, like my baby, but my relationship with men is—I wouldn't say a contrast to my business success—but it's like sex. It's in, out in out. I really wanna stay in longer, but I'm mostly out.And one night after yet another devastating breakup, instead of just looking on Tinder for another guy to give me some love, I called my mom. "Mom, can you tell me your story of your yoni?" My mom told me everything—her yoni, her mom's yoni, her love stories, her pains—with tears and a lot of joy because finally, someone cares. We became friends again. I taught her yoga, dance, couch surfing, and BDSM. She came to my tantric classes in a women's temple. And with my help, ten years after the day she was almost bitten to death by my dad, she found the love of her life, who was a Danish hippie. And they just celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary.My last bed is the bed at the very beginning of my talk, where my daughter and I would cuddle and tell bedtime stories. So she asked me to tell her a story, and I told her the story I told you tonight. And when she heard the part about my first baby who died in the abortion, guess what she said. "Mommy, that was me." So twenty-five years after the incoherent bedtime stories of my mom, I finally realized that people that we thought were gone can and do come back.My yoni, which has been the greatest source of shame and pain in my life, has now become the greatest source of power that created a baby, created a six-figure income, a business that gets a lot of yonis well fucked by life and a time location free life here in paradise Bali, which is exactly the life I dreamed of five years ago when I was picking up horse shit. So my shit has become my gold. My greatest pain has become my greatest power. So can yours.

Thank you. Thank you for letting me see you, the deeper imperfect, perfect parts of you, not just the paradigms of the world you were born into. And I gotta say it takes my breath away. And sometimes we speak because we have nothing to say. No words needed, though, because presence is your essence. And essence is your beauty—the only kind of beauty capable of bringing a warrior like me down to his knees.For as long as I can remember, the way that I got love from my mother was when I got good grades. You know, the problem was that I rarely did. In my best year, I was a C+ student. It wasn't that I was dumb or uninterested. It's just that no one took the time to acknowledge that I was different. You know, not like the other kids who sat up straight, did what they were told, and got a kick out of getting gold stars. And it was all good until I turned nine.Then my elementary school, P.S. 211 on the east side of the Bronx, the boogie down Bronx in New York city, started sending home progress reports, basically saying that I was failing. I don't know what got into my mother that night. She must've been contemplating it the whole way home. She stormed into my room with her leather belt and then proceeded to beat me. And she threatened me if I didn't get my act together. And she pleaded me to be more like my sisters Taisha and Clarabelle, the ones who were everything I wasn't. You get beat one time, two times, three times you cry. I cried. You get beat ten times, twenty times, fifty times you learn to block out the pain. Cry? What's that? I got beat a few hundred times. When that happens, you learn to laugh. You learn to build an amor that says, “YOU CAN’T HURT ME.” My mom saw this. So she just started beating me with the metal part of the belt. I cried. It hurt like hell until it didn't. Now, the boy isn't a boy—the boy is a man. And I would be lying if I were here to say that it still doesn't hurt like hell.So God, tell me what's real. Tell me what's fake. Why is everything about you a fricking debate? What's the point of love? Because every time I've shown it, it's only brought me pain.Right after I dropped out of college . . . (College? That was my father's idea). . . I wanted to be a marketer, a storyteller who changed the lives of people through products that I believed in - business being my vehicle. I have my dad to blame for this. When I returned back home from university, one of the first places I went was to visit my cousin. Historically, a safe place for me to be me. It's also where my aunt and my uncle lived. Moments after finding out that I dropped out of college, my aunt looked me directly in the eyes and said, "You'll never be anybody without a college degree." I immediately laughed because I thought she may be right.So God, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how to feel.One day, I kid you not, I walked out of my house where I was living on the beach, and I go for a walk. While on the walk, I see my outrageously beautiful German girlfriend with long blonde hair in the darkest corner of the beach, cuddling another man, stroking his chest so gently. And I would be lying if I didn't say I wish it was me. I heard they were dance partners. She said it was nothing. I found out months later she cheated on me. So my God, tell me if you’re real, why do I hurt? Why is there pain? Why does everything good always have to fade? I hope it’s cool I’m being real with you. I just want to let you in. My God, I’m calling. Are you listening?Dear Pedro, my child, I'll keep this brief. You need gratitude. Maybe just a sample. There's reasons for my actions, even if I never showed you. I remember when you were five years old and proclaimed to me that you wanted to be free, that you wanted to be a vessel for me. So I gave you the grace of not one or two but three motorbike accidents that left you with permanent tattoos, left you crippled for weeks at a time, so you can contemplate who are you. I gifted you chronic back pain, neck pain, shoulder pain. My son, did you really think that these were coincidences?How insignificant that these moments that you were having a hard time surrendering to now become. Can you remember how that changed some things? How grateful and present and resilient you magically became? My son, do you need me to go on? I can do this all day. Just look at your hands. Three crooked fingers. All the times your hips and knees will lock up for no apparent reason. The too many toe bangs to count, the headaches, the migraines, the heartbreaks, the toxic thoughts, the two emergency surgeries, the asthma, and random blackouts growing up that left you hospitalized for weeks at a time, divinely orchestrated to help you live into your destiny and allowing the infinite wisdom you already have inside of you to pour, pour, pour out of you into a limitless cup of pure potential. Pedro, it's time you woke up. My son, I know you're confused, so why don't you take a seat and let me pray for you.My prayer is that you live your life in such alignment that at any moment, you can hear the words that you have a week left to live, and you would not do anything differently because you are already full. It's why I keep taking things away from you that you think you need to show you where you're not free, to show you where you're not capable to lead. So my son, when I make things hard for you, just know this is me celebrating you. Stop wishing things were easier. Wish you were better. Let the moment take you to a level of depth that you've never been. You are growing from this experience of life if you choose, and to quote Napoleon, "Death is nothing, but to live defeated is to die daily."My child, my prayer is that you bring a sense of alignment into your world that is bar none. That you be the exception. And if things keep coming into your life that are outside of your control, just know I'm giving you a gift. You are growing at a different level of depth than most people will ever go in their life so that you, you could be the person who leads. And I'll let you in on a little known secret. You can't take people to places you've never been. So go and penetrate the world, my son, with all you have to give and allow it to penetrate you back at your deepest core of being because you are so beautiful and you are complete, and you are the beggar you meet on the street and you are inclined to be. And I pray to God that you will be free because I want you to run and feel the grass on your feet. Hi, my name is Pedro and I'm waking up.

I'm twenty-six years old. And I'm the new host of a small Swedish TV show. I'm just beginning to feel comfortable with the whole thing, like talking straight to the camera as if it was my best friend and the last couple of weeks, I'm starting to get a few really good reviews. They say that I have 'it.' I feel so good. And I feel so proud.This day a man walks into the office. I've never seen him before, but he presents himself as a producer of the Nobel Prize live event. He sits down, and he looks at me all the time when he's speaking and starts saying that it's a four-hour-long live event. I know that and all of Sweden will be watching. And then he asks me if I want to be that year's TV host. I almost start laughing because I'm so new. I've just been on television for two months. I'm a beginner. And no, I'm not ready. Absolutely not. But the producer and reporters of my small TV show—they go nuts. They're so excited because they know I will be in all the newspapers, all the magazines, and I will spread light to the tiny TV show.So I say yes to make them happy. Two months later, I'm dressed as a princess. I'm wearing a long blue silky dress, jewels, makeup, and I'm standing in the blue hall. It's the main hall of the Swedish town hall. It's a castle-like building with twenty-two-meter high ceilings, marble floors. And in just minutes, the Swedish king and queen will walk down the stairs, followed by this year's Noble Prize winners.Yeah, I'm here to guide the TV audience throughout this four-hour-long live event. And yeah, it's a huge step in my career, and it's supposed to be a moment of celebration, but I can't breathe, and I can't feel my feet. And in the next moment, I experience something I've never experienced before. It's like I contract into a small bubble. I leave my body, and suddenly I see myself from above looking down at myself at this empty shell standing on the floor.And from that moment, it feels like I'm trying to survive the evening. I'm the captain of the Titanic, but I don't know anything about boats. The next day I wake up to an article in a newspaper, and the reporter says that watching me made her so embarrassed that she needed to hide behind a pillow. And the next day, I'm on the list of the most unpopular people of Sweden. I start looking down when I meet my coworkers in the TV corridors because I can't stand meeting their eyes. But I decide that I will learn from this. I will never ever not listen to my 'no' again.So do I listen to my no from that moment? No, I don't. I say yes to having lunch when I want to eat alone. I go to parties when I would like to stay home. I stay too long in relationships. And I even say yes to impossible projects like playing a part in a theater play that requires me to travel for two hours and not getting paid, but instead needing to pay for the equipment, the rent, and no upside whatsoever and doing that for weeks until I can't stand it for one more minute and then quitting absolutely too late. It's insanity. I'm so afraid of making people disappointed that I end up with people being really disappointed and angry.To be honest, I've never been a fast learner. I've done things over and over and over until they hurt myself and others. It feels like I'm walking around in this too-tight costume. I can't breathe in my own life. It feels like I'm dying.So I leave this small TV show, and I decide that I will jump on to one-year actor training because I loved theater when I was a kid. And I'm so longing to be joyful as a kid again. And it's an incredible year—so much fun. And at the end of the year, we have a big performance. I don't know this, but there is a soap opera producer in the audience. And she calls me a few days later, and she asks me if I want to play one of the main characters in the soap opera Friends and Enemies. And I feel this instant joy like bubbling energy in my heart. Like, yes! And then crushing energy. Crushing thoughts saying, You can't do that. You're a serious journalist. Are you crazy? People will be so disappointed.So I'm struggling with this for a week. Should I choose this joy that I'm feeling or this tight costume? It feels like for me going from being a serious journalist to becoming a soap opera actress is the same thing as if I would have been a nun and then suddenly become a stripper. And I don't know if you had the experience or if you remember the experience of being a teacher's pet or an adult's favorite and at the same time feeling the weight of that and that finally messing up and disappointing them sets you free. So that's what's happening—because I chose the soap opera. Ahh! And people judged me badly. I'm not at all seen as a serious journalist anymore, but I'm free.Ten years later, I'm on vacation in the South of France with my husband and two kids. And we are walking by the ocean—glitter in the waves, a soft breeze, and these golden pink lights everywhere. And I just ask my husband to please stop. We just stand there. Me and him and our kids. I can feel it everywhere. "I want to live here. I want to move from Sweden to France." And I look at my husband, and he just nods and says, "Me too." But there is no way we can make this happen. We don't have the money. We don't have any job contacts or friends in the South of France. We have no one to pick us up if we fail.And the following two months are the most scary and challenging of my life. It feels like I'm dying and being born at the same time because people get angry, upset, disappointed. How can we be so selfish, irresponsible, and leave people behind like that?But every time I close my eyes and I think about a life in the South of France, I feel this bubbling life force running through my veins. And we take a leap of faith through the fear and with the courage of many lions. We made our way to France, and we found everything. We found a house, friends, money to survive, and so much more.I'm not married anymore. And I don't live in the South of France anymore. Huge life changes that brought up my biggest fears—the fear of being alone, the fear of feeling guilty, ashamed. But it's never been about choosing or not choosing fear to me. It's been about listening to that inner voice that speaks to me through my longing, my inspiration. And sometimes as a very clear no. My soul's voice and my soul didn't choose life to be born here on earth to play small and safe or to please others. My soul wants me to grow and to expand and, most of all, to be happy. So my soul is my wise and kind guru.Thank you.

It was the mid-1980s, somewhere in the middle of Canada—you know, the tall part of America!Now there was actually a very, very fatal illness sweeping the nation, and little children were getting very sick. If they were cheated, they had disabilities. It was called spinal meningitis. It's orally contracted. And what happens is it goes into the spinal column, and it affects the nervous system. And, in effect, actually, the fever affects the brain so much that it can shut a small child down.Now the 1980s. Tape decks, VCRs, station wagons, come on. Great decade! Budweiser was king, and Donald Trump was just a mere mortal wearing boxy suits and buying real estate. But I really wanna tell you about a little girl's journey, her brush with death, her glimpse at the other side. And that little girl is me.I was sitting eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the stairs. I loved to sit there because I could watch all the foot traffic move around the house, but I was really hot, like really hot. And Oh, I love this sandwich. I'm not hungry anymore. What's happening to me? Oh, I'm gonna go to the kitchen and talk to the adults cos they always know what to do.So I go to the kitchen, and I pull on Auntie Gina's shirt, and I'm like, "Auntie Gina, can you feel my forehead?" And she leans down, and she puts her hand on my forehead, and she says, "Oh dear, this child is really hot. I'm really concerned about her." Well, I scurry away because I'm like, Oh no, I've done something wrong now. Oh no, why am I so hot? And I put my little head through the banisters on the stairs, and I look out, and I listen to the adults as they make a commotion and talk about the hospital. Oh no, not the hospital. I really, really don't wanna go the hospital. That's where people go when they get really sick. Sure enough, they're throwing things into a bag. They're acting a little funny, and it's just a circus, and we're running out the door.And the hospital—clean, clinical, bright white lights, beeping sounds—doctors, nurses being called to all different floors. Surely a doctor comes and stands right in front of me, and he assesses me immediately. And he says, "This child is very sick. We think she has spinal meningitis. If we test her, we might lose her. Let's get her immediately to intensive care." I'm isolated in a room. I'm dressed in white. I'm sitting straight up in my bed. I now have intravenous being put into my arms—medicine running through my body. I don't know what's happening.My mother comes and sits on the corner of my bed, and she says to me, "Sweetheart, do you know what you have?" "No, I don't." "It's spinal meningitis, sweetheart." "Spider man ingitis? Oh, that sounds really scary." "Yes. We're very concerned for you. You see, we need you to make it through the night." "Okay." And with that, she got up, and she exited the room and went into the hall. It had grown quiet now, and night was falling. I sat in my bed, medicine running through my body. Exhausted. And I fell asleep.Sure enough, I woke up to something coming down next to me. A spider. Oh, okay. I'm gonna close my eyes. I'm gonna get myself really nice and tight like a board. And hopefully, this will go away. I open my eyes. I turn to the right. What-what is going on over here? Three unidentifiable shadowy men standing next to my bed. So I now have a spider and three men over here. Oh boy. This is what she was telling me about. If I close my eyes really tight, I think, Yeah, this is gonna go away, right? Yeah. And it does.That was a close one. Okay. But now what's going on now? Oh my God. I'm in a hospital, and I can hear dogs barking. There are three, four, five dogs in the room with me. They're barking so loud. They're snarling. They are drooling, and they are attacking my bed. They know I'm vulnerable, and they're coming for me. They're gonna take me down to Hades and present me to Persephone. What is going on? They oh, they can't get in. Oh, thank goodness. They can't get in. They keep attacking it, but they can't get in. There's a bubble around my bed that's protecting me—some kind of a force field.Thank goodness. Okay. I'm just gonna wait this out. This is just gonna go away. Yeah. Daylight is breaking. I can see it now. And like a good vampire movie, I know those dogs are going away, and they just get off of me, and they slither away through the cracks of the room. And the room is bathed in this warm white light. And I'm like, Oh, thank goodness. I've made it through the night.But now what's happening? I thought this was all over. No, it's not. It's not over. Oh my gosh. I'm getting up outta my body. I think they call this astral traveling, and I am looking back at myself. Phenomenal! Wow. And I can feel something beautiful and warm coming from behind me. Oh my goodness, what is that? Wow, that feels so good. And I can hear string instruments. Oh, it's beautiful."Beloved. You are at a checkpoint." "Oh, a-a checkpoint?" "Yes, beloved. You see, you are now at a place where you can make a choice. How do you want to choose? Do you want to go back into that life, or do you want to come back behind the veil? We must warn you that if you come back here, you will have to work two times as hard. You see, beloved, the life that you have chosen, the contract that you have chosen is for your soul's evolutionary process. And the souls that you come into contact with will also evolve. It's a very multi-layered process, you see, my beloved?" "Yeah. I-I understand. Okay. Uh, so if I go there, how long will it take exactly?""You see, beloved, for us it's a very quick timeline. Blink of an eye, really. But for you, once you will be embodied, time will move quite slow." "Oh, okay. I-I, okay. And what's . . . what's gonna happen? Can you tell me a little bit about that?" "Well, beloved, you see, there will be great global catastrophes. You will witness genocide. You will see abuse of human life and source life on the planet. There will be technological wars, famine, and you will feel it all." "Oh, okay. Sad." "Yes, beloved. And you will have a heart—an empathetic heart.And you see, there will be hardship, heartache, and your heart will break." "I understand. What else?" "Well, beloved, there will be beauty beyond belief. There will be human connection, joy—pure joy—humor, surprise, and elements that you can only experience if you choose to contract this life as a human." "I see. Well, I-I suppose I accept that, and I understand. Yes, I agree. I agree to this."And with that, I felt my body, my spirit slip back into my body, and I was looking back at my family, connected again. I could feel their collective hearts beat, their prayers answered. Their little girl had made it through the night. She wouldn't be taken from them too soon in this life. I felt cells regenerating and blood pulsing through my body. I was going to heal. I was going to make it. You see, there's actually many of us that have an experience like this. In fact, one in ten people that's admitted to the hospital has what is called a near-death experience, but because of fear or shame, embarrassment, we conceal this immaculate experience. We don't share it. And yet it's so beautiful to know that there's something beyond this. To know that it's pain-free. To know that we have to live without regrets here. That this is our training ground. That this is our playground. Our learning, our schoolhouse.I hope this message is something you can take with you tonight. Death is really very simple, you see. It's just a transformational doorway. A transformational doorway for the mystical energy that is spirit and spirit never ends. Thank you so much. Thank you so so much for being my audience for that story—that's the first time. Thank you so much.

I was born in a small village about one hour west from here in the shadow of Batukaru Mountain. There were no cars, no electricity, and one transistor radio. I'm not one hundred years old. You know that! I'm still young. Every day I would sit around in the morning when my mom cooked. I just loved it, you know, because I knew she was gonna need something from me. Sure enough, "Hey Made, can you take the salt and then get some eggs from the neighbor." This is the moment that I was waiting for. I ran out the door and came back with the eggs. This is the barter system that we have in Bali. You know, I just love that feeling. You barter for something, and everybody in a whole village knows what we have.At twelve years old, my dad called me in. Wow, this is a little bit serious, I thought, you know. And then I sat next to him, and he said, "Made, if you wanna be somebody, you need to get out from this village, and then come back again when the wind blows in this direction." I was confused. You know life in the village was so damn good. Why does he want me to go out? Well, I followed his directions literally.In 1996, I found myself halfway around the world in San Francisco—the city I only saw when I was watching Hollywood movies. I was in awe. Oh my God, you know. This could not be more different than where I grew up. It was such a contrast. I'll just give you an example. My friend told me, "If you get in an accident, do not admit it's your fault because you will be libeled for it." What? In Bali, if you fall in somebody's house, you would find the host and say, "Oh, I'm sorry. That was my fault. I didn't see the hole." It was so different, but hey, I needed to learn. And the other thing is that I needed to call my friends to see them, and I needed to come on time. That was a new concept. In Bali, you just show up in somebody else's house, and they have all the time for you. And they even give you coffee.Well, life is not black and white like that. You know, in Bali, we call it robineda, which is the duality. And I got lucky when I was in the United States. I worked for Outward Bound. I worked at a lot of different things. I just learned everything. I even skied. Can you believe a Balinese skier?! In the United States? I was telemarketing. People said, "That person is from Bali." But I'm not a dancer, sorry.So I got lucky to meet two of my mentors in the United States. The first one was Yvon Chouinard at the company that I worked at for nine years. What I learned from him was, "Hold your vision and your mission." Up to this date, the most profitable company in the United States, and still owned privately.The second mentor that I met was Richard Strozzi-Heckler, and I had the privilege to be uchi deshi, meaning that I lived with him like an intern. So he taught me aikido and somatics. From aikido, I really learned how to take care of others with dignity. From aikido, I learned how to fall, get up, move on, roll, get up, move on. From somatics, I learned how to really know myself. From somatics, I learned really just knowing myself that I didn't know before. And from both of those, Richard always said, "If you wanna change yourself, change your practice." This is what he said . . . "To remember, move one hundred times. To get it in your muscle memory, one thousand times. To embody it, ten thousand times." So think about it, one, two, three, four, and so on.After a few years in the United States, I felt not lonely, but just felt a kind of loneliness. You know, I grew up with such a different way of life. And for the first time, I saw Bali from a different perspective. The community, the dancing, the ceremonies that I took for granted when I was in Bali. I missed them so much. And I told myself, One day when I'm back in Bali, when that wind blows me back to Bali, I will take care of you, Bali.Of course, at the beginning of 2010, I found myself back in Bali. My experiences in the United States proved to be valuable. I ended up with job here as a guest liaison, as a somatic coach, and teaching aikido in one of the healing centers here in Bali.In those four years that I worked over there, I met one of the most talented plant-based chefs in Bali or probably in Indonesia, chef Made Runatha. One day he asked me, "Hey, Janur, do you wanna open a restaurant with me?" And I said, "A restaurant?" I'd never run a restaurant before, you know, and I Googled it. It has an 80% failure, you know. Do I wanna put myself though that? But I remember when I was working at Howard Bond, one of my mentors said, "When you do something, think about these four things—learning, earning, sharing, and fun." Hmm. I'd never done this before. Well, I guess I can learn it. So I said, "Sure. Why not?" So then Moksa Plant-Based Permaculture Garden was born. I knew nothing about restaurants, knew nothing about permaculture, but what I learned from permaculture is that inside of a problem, there is a solution. That's one of the principles from permaculture that I really took to heart. Moksa was thriving until COVID-19 hit.I sat in my home. My wife Hilary was in the United States at the time. (Hi, hon, love you long time!) So she was stuck in the United States with my kids. I found myself sipping a glass of wine. What should I do? I want to help my family in my village. And then I remembered inside of the crisis, there is an opportunity. What is the crisis that we are facing right now? Number one is COVID-19. Because of COVID-19 in Bali, we need rice. If we have rice, salt, and pepper, we live forever. Yeah. That's Bali. The second one. Plastic, plastic, plastic. That's the environment. The third one is like this. When there is a disaster, people bring what we call disaster relief—one hand on the bottom and one hand on the top. I really wanna bring this hand together. In Bollywood, we call it tatvamasi. You as me, me as you. The giver becomes a receiver. The receiver becomes a giver. So we all have an equal feeling what I call dignity.So I thought to myself, I'm just gonna go to the village. I called the village leader and the youth leader. And I talked, and I presented my idea of exchanging plastic for rice. And then they loved it. And they said, "When should we start?" I said, "Tomorrow." "What?" "Hey, we are not waiting for an auspicious day to pick up plastic. Tomorrow is a good day," I said. "We don't need to wait for the full moon or the new moon. Tomorrow. If there is plastic tomorrow, there is rice tomorrow," I said. "Oh, Janur is crazy. He's been Americanized." But hey, it's good to be crazy.So the next day, they picked up the plastic in two days. In my village there's only sixty households, which is two hundred and forty people. We collected five hundred kilos of plastic—a half-ton. I was so happy. Oh, my program is great. You know, I got all of this and then, Oh no. If in my village, this small village, I can pick up this much plastic, what about a bigger village? What about around Bali? If this thing works in my village, it's got to work in a different village. And I started the system. How I'm gonna bring it out and all of that, with the help of volunteers—dedicated volunteers—with me, and my wife's support which was really just relentless. Now the plastic exchange is spreading like wildfire. Two hundred villages. One hundred and thirty tons of plastic has been collected.Thirty-five tons of rice has been distributed, and about four thousand five hundred households have been helped. So really, the core of Plastic Exchange is three—dignity, prosperity, environment. The mission is to empower Balinese people to prosper through the barter system by collecting non-organic stuff. And we give them rice. Assisting them for now.I remember Richard said, "To get it in your muscle memory, one thousand times, to make it embodied, ten thousand times." I want my people here in Bali, stop doing this, but do this now. One, two . . . sooner or later, it's gonna be ten thousand times, and it'll become embodied. That's my hope. We can do this. All of you here have been donating to Plastic Exchange, supporting me. Now, here, we can do this for our self-worth, for our dignity, prosperity, and the environment.In Bali, we believe in reincarnation. We're born again because we have work to do. Moksartham Jagadhita ya ca iti Dharma. It means There is liberation in this world when you do your work, when you do Dharma, and you wanna be one with the creation, and then you're not born again. This place we call Maya Pada—the place of illusion. We do our work to reach Moksha.My dad is my hero. He pushed me out of my comfort zone. "Get out and come back," he said. Dad, I'll stay here in the world to do my work until I see you in heaven.Thank you.

The word ibu means mother. Being a mother is a gift. In Balinese society, being a mother means being everything. We are the house organizer, cook, nurse, babysitter for our children, nanny, even a nun who always bows and prays for the grace of the Lord for everyone's well-being and prosperity. It is a privilege being a mother in our society, but unfortunately, there wasn't enough luck for me to be a mother for my own child. I could not do what most mothers do. I was born in a jungle. I grew up in a jungle, and I live in a jungle. It wasn't a privilege for those who had financial struggles.I thought I wasn't lucky as a child who lived without my parents and moving from one place to another. I thought, Why am I not lucky? Why are my parents not around? It triggered me to attempt suicide when I was nine for the first time. The next attempt was when I was fifteen. Finally, my siblings, my parents, and I reunited. And we built a hut in the jungle again with monkeys, snakes, and all those other wild animals as part of our family. The neighbors came to my dad and wanted to buy me and my sister because they thought this was the easiest way to get money for our studies.The Universe again designed my life. I was married at a young age. I had no experience. I had not been in any relationship with men or women. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't know how to deal with this unpleasant situation I faced because no one taught me. No one showed me there were possibilities and opportunities. Again and again, I attempted suicide, but I could tell I wasn't smart enough to end my life. I always ended up in hospital. I thought the story would end when I finally got divorced, and I had to leave part of my blood, my daughter, when she was eight months old. That was the biggest pain.I found myself being a mother without part of my blood and found myself being divorced, which had been taboo in our society. I did what people do around the world at the moment, lockdown. This is my second lockdown. I told the next in the family compound, which is my mom. A mother is the key of weakness and strength. She gave me such sharp words. "Okay. If you don't want to go out, if you don't want to open the border, kill yourself inside. But before that, you will see my dead body outside." That's the moment when I promised I would open the border. I will move. I will face whatever is in front of me next, whatever comes next. I gained weight, which I had lost during the marriage—from 53 to 35.I did harm myself in the past because I didn't know where to go. I didn't know what to do. How could I know because no one taught me? But I'm glad I did. Of course, only after so many tears. When I gained weight, I was happy. But then men came by one by one and asked my price. "How much are you per night?" It was just because I was divorced. Again I didn't know how to respond. And of course, it made their partners, girlfriends, or wives afraid I was taking away their partner. A few of them even spat on me. I could not again respond to that unpleasant behavior, those actions. But one thing I could do was cry. I still had tears to help me.When I realized I was not in a healthy environment, I decided to break my mom's rule, to keep me just in the village where I couldn't deal with all the gossip and people looking me up and down. I decided to move forward. I'm glad I did, even though it was not easy for the first three years. I continued my studies in university and kept myself as busy as I could because that was the only way to be able to lay down on my bed. Otherwise, I could not stop thinking about my princess—my daughter. Can you imagine when a part of our body is separated because of a patriarchal society? My second journey began when I met many women who struggled with many different issues. Not only being divorced but having fertility issues, single moms, mothers having children with special needs, transgenders, sexual illnesses, and all those things. The more I met, the more I realized this has been happening for such a long time in my society. It has been taboo to talk about them. People always think it's a shame to talk, to share, but then I realized this needed to be shared. I brought them to sit together and to let them know they are not the only ones who struggle. Let them know there's a space for them, which I didn't get, which I didn't find. Because again, I had no opportunity to broaden my horizon in the past.The idea came to put them together and share because every time I shared my story, I found it to be a natural way of healing. And I thought if it works for me, it should work for others. That's when the idea came to create a women's center. Not only a women's center but a place where everyone can come together. The Universe knows how to lead us to start something at the right time. I ended up taking care of children and adults with special needs, which helped me to understand myself deeper and better, helped me to keep the three Ps—my passion, my patience, and perseverance and to see the results of what I'm doing, what I'm learning.I found the biggest teacher ever in my life who taught me how to be happy no matter what my situation. And again, the Universe always knows, and I think this is what I've been following in the natural way—Bali time—slowly but surely, even though many times I'm not sure.It's okay. A few years later, the women's center created more and more people willing to learn and share. And now we end up a center of community where we embrace everyone, no matter what their background, no matter where they're coming from. And what I'm doing is not something new. Instead, I'm doing CPI—Copy, Paste, Improvise. I copy and paste all those beautiful things—the heritage of our ancestors—improvise, add value, and make it joyful and meaningful in our activities. And I'm so grateful to have my family who loves me dearly, even though they don't know what led me to end up doing these things.But I believe with the three Ps, everybody is a teacher. Every place is a school and every moment is a lesson. I learned. I grew from all those people I met, from all those places I've been, and from all those unpleasant situations I went through. And again, I believe so much in nature's way and the Universe's know-how. I learned how to embrace, be a friend, and get along with pain, to help me to have forgiveness for myself and for everyone else.And this year is the biggest gift. On December 22nd, it is Mother's Day. The Universe gives me the biggest reward. She was in my family compound when she was eight months old. And after sixteen years, it's been a long journey. And I'm grateful for having family and friends and all those who struggle, those children and women in my community who stand next to me. They remind me how strong I am in my long journey of waiting. And this gift, my princess just stepped out after sixteen years in my family compound last Wednesday.This is the biggest reward to keep my three Ps—my passion, patience, and perseverance. And this also proves when you are ready, the Universe will make it happen. Trust me. And another beautiful gift I received this year is from the government being the Mother of the Year. Happy Mother's Day.Thank you.

I'm in a cabin in the woods, meditating about my upcoming move to Bali. I'm stressed out. I don't know if it's the right decision. I've sold almost everything. And I say to myself, Colleen, how bad can it be? I stopped myself. How bad can it be? You're moving to Bali! How good can it get? I jump up, and on a big piece of paper I write ‘How good can it get?’ Underneath that heading, I started to write down things that would mean that my life was getting good. One of those things was 'Make out with a sexy man.' Little did I know that was the beginning of a torrid love affair.I had met Aaron a week before at contact improv dance, and he was sexy, witty, and playful. So I went back. He was there. We danced. Though we're not supposed to talk when dancing, I asked him, "Did I see you at dinner last night?" He said, "No." But quickly followed up with, "Maybe you're seeing the future." At that moment, Aaron gave me a gift. He put a ball in the game. Now usually, because I'm not enough, I would not pick that ball up, but I had a choice to make. Was I gonna continue being small and know myself is not enough, or was I gonna be playful, sexy, and free. I chose the latter. Well, people do say I'm extremely intuitive.After the dance, Aaron asked me, "Well, when do you wanna go on a date?" I said, "Well, it should be soon cos I'm leaving town in three days and the country in three weeks." That's one of the guidelines of a torrid love affair—someone should be leaving soon. So he said, "How about tonight?" I said, "Fantastic." He told me the location to meet him at a restaurant, and we meet up, and I think to myself, Oh God. Now I have to like have a conversation. I don't wanna talk about the stress I'm under, or what we do for work, or our past relationships. I wanna keep it sexy and fun and stay in the present moment—another beautiful guideline of a torrid love affair. So I think What's gonna make him feel good? I ask him, "So what are you passionate about? What turns you on?" We start bantering back and forth, and the conversation gets very sexy. He finally leans into me and says, "You just wanna fuck, don't you?"Now I heard him loud and clear, but what came outta my mouth was, "What?" He got really shy and backed away. And I realized that my good girl conditioning was showing, and I wanted to recalibrate back to being sexy, fun, and free. So I lean in. "Oh no, I heard you. I just wanted to hear it again." Even though I didn't answer his question, we both knew what was gonna happen that night. So we started talking about how would we make it happen? Where would we go? What do we want to take place? Another beautiful guideline of a torrid love affair—a high level of communication.So we made our plan. He was gonna come meet me back at my wooden cabin. We meet there. He comes back with music, candles, and binds one would use to tie someone up. I soon find myself in quite the compromising position. As I'm lying in bed tied up, he leans over me, and he whispers in my ear, "You're mine. No one else can have you." After the binds have been taken off and our session was done, I ask him, "How did you learn about all this?" He's like, "Actually, I've never done it before, but I've always wanted to do it." Another beautiful guideline to a torrid love affair—pushing your edges.He tells me about a time where he saw Batman being tied up by Catwoman when he was a young boy and how it made him feel. The next night I dress up as Catwoman. And I dance for him. And it's so edgy and so real. And I feel crazy but so alive. He laughs, and I jump on him, and I push my hand down on his chest, call him Batman and tie him up and say, "This is no laughing matter. You're mine. No one else can have you."When Batman was untied, he turns to me, and he says, "Can I dance for you now?" In awe, I'm like, "Yes." He gets up to dance, and I start to cry. Can it stay this innocent, this free, this playful? And again, I catch myself, and I say to myself, Maybe it can, maybe I am the one who dictates my life. And I say how it goes, and it can be this way forever just because I say so. I start to laugh with delight. He jumps on top of me, and I look at him like he's the most amazing man in the world.He says to me, "Has anyone ever barked into your pussy?" "You mean like a dog?" "Yeah." "No." "Oh, poor baby." As he goes down between my legs, the most masculine bark vibrations go up my body, and I think to myself, How good can it get?

I'm sitting in a restaurant in Rio de Janeiro. Across the table is Sarah. We've been traveling around South America for the last six weeks. It's meant to be one of the most amazing romantic journeys. I mean the most romantic city in the world, but I feel nothing. I thought I'd be falling madly in love, but we are falling and drifting apart. The next day I wake up in a hotel room in Rio, and I know it's over. I feel this knot of dread. I know I've gotta break up with her. I don't how to tell her.I'm just baffled, and I'm confused. My mind has been hijacked. All I can do is frantically panic. And I can only think All I've gotta do is just get outta this hotel room. I freeze and I start packing up my bags and I start packing up my suitcase. And all of a sudden, Sarah wakes up, and she's like, "What are you doing, Chris? What's going on?" And all I can say in my panicked state is, "I-I'm sorry. It's not meant to be. This isn't gonna work. I need to break up with you. I'm sorry." Twenty-four hours later, she's booked a flight back to Australia. We don't even hug goodbye. And like that, the girl that I thought I was gonna spend the rest of my life with . . . it's over.Two months later, I'm back in Australia, and I'm taking a look at my life. And on the outside, my life looks amazing. Looks really successful. But on the inside, I'm empty. I've been in an engineering career for the last ten years that I'm bored with. I'm now single. I'm lonely. I'm thirty years old. What am I doing? I think Did I even want to break up with Sarah? Maybe I made a mistake. I sent her a message, and I say, "Sarah, I'm so sorry. I think I messed up. I wanna get back with you." I don't know if she's ever gonna respond back to me. She doesn't respond.So I book a flight to Tasmania to spend some time with my family over Christmas. And as the plane hits the tarmac, I check my phone, and there it is. There's a message from Sarah. She wants to speak with me. And now I'm like the guy outta that romcom, that guy that messed it up. And I've got this one chance to make amends, to win back the girl. What do I do? I book a flight straight back to see her.And this time, when we're sitting across from each other, she's the one that feels nothing. I'm gutted. She says she could never ever trust me again after what I did to her. I'm devastated.I send her one last message to let her know I'm so sorry for the pain that I caused—I had no idea. And she replies. She says that sorry isn't good enough. And she proceeds to tell me every last little flaw about my character. She tells me I'm passive-aggressive. I don't even know what that is. I've gotta Google it. She says that I'm judgmental. I'm egotistical—I gotta Google that too. She says that I'm disconnected to my feelings. Like, wow, this is intense. This is the most criticism I've ever got from anyone.And then I reflected back to that day in Rio. I didn't even know myself. And I thought maybe, maybe she's right. What if I don't even know myself? What if I'm blind to this? The next morning I wake up, and I've got a very specific recommendation from my sister for a very specific book from a very specific guy, Tony Robbins—the self-help guru. Right now, I'm thinking I can do with some help. Anyway, I go straight to the bookstore, and I grab the book, and it's called Awaken the Giant Within. I take. I read it. Holy moly! I'm hanging off every word—every page. This guy's deconstructed my whole entire reality. Oh, this all makes sense now. I get it. I really get it. I am the giant. It's me. I'm the giant. I get it. It transforms my life. Everything changes.I go from being oblivious to being obsessed. I got the source code to my reality now. I learn more in the next thirty days than I have in the last thirty years. Wow. This is big. This changes me. I start showing up so much differently. I'm telling my mates that I really care about them. And instead of shaking their hand, I'm hugging them. I'm looking people in the eye when I'm chatting to them. I feel connected to people. I even ring my dad, and I tell my dad that I love him for the first time in my life. I'm changing at a rapid pace. I don't know what's going on, but this is good. This is so good. I really feel alive. And that's just the beginning. I realize I'm changing from a boy into a man. And I've just activated beast mode. All of that criticism became my fuel. It activated this hunger, this deep yearning inside of me to know who I really am.And I go on the next six-month journey of awakening. I truly awaken this new man inside of me. I get back into my life, and I'm going to seminars on weekends. I'm going to all these workshops—learning about myself. My friends think I've joined a cult. My dad's confused cos he thinks I'm into all this weird fluffy duck hippy stuff. But it's okay. He knows I love him.And I'm even sitting at my desk during the day in my engineering job, pretending to work on spreadsheets while I'm listening to podcasts and TEDx talks and audiobooks, feverously just documenting and writing and capturing all this wisdom.It all shifts. One day I'm scrolling through my Facebook feed, and an ad pops up. "Ever thought about becoming a life coach?" I don't even know what life coaching is, but there's something about it that resonates with me. I click it. And before you know it, I'm on the phone to some guy, and I've signed up to a year-long life coaching training course. But on the first three-day training of that course, holy moly, this is what I've been looking for my whole entire life. I found it. I knew there was more. I knew there was more. And I found it. And I didn't even know what coaching was, but I knew that was something for me to explore, something to expand into.So the next six months, the beast mode goes up a notch. I put everything I got into this coaching stuff and I'm actually pretty good at it. I helped one guy get off crystal meth. I helped a girl pretty much recover from the same crap that I went through. And it's not even the most important part. The most important part is I feel alive. I know why I'm here. I got a reason for being here, and it's incredible, but I have no idea how this is gonna work out. I don't know anything about business. I don't know anything about coaching, really, but I realize I need to make a decision. I've spent ten years climbing the ladder of success, leaning against the wrong wall. And I can see a path in front of me. I don't even know what it is, but it feels right.On that day on the drive home, I asked myself, Why? Why am I still in this job? And in that moment, I decide to take my decade-long engineering career, and I walk away, and it's liberating. It's also the most scary, crazy thing I've ever done in my life. What's my dad gonna say? But it feels right.And what I've realized to be true is that life is the ultimate contact sport, and I'm not here to play a safe game. And life—she's a tough teacher. She gives you the test first and then the lesson afterward. But bless it because all the adversity, all the chaos, all the suffering, all the confusion—it all exists. And it's there because it contains the seed of wisdom for the awakening and for the expansion of who you are meant to be. And I realize this whole time through the chaos, through the confusion, through the suffering, through the joy, through the love, through the adventure, through the whole lot, life has been conspiring in my favor, even when I didn't know it.Thank you.

When I was young, maybe up until eight years old, I was a girl full of fears, insecurities, extremely shy, and very sensitive. Sometimes I could cry easily, even though it was for a small reason. I was raised up by a conservative family in Central Java. My parents and I lived in Central Java, Yogyakarta, where my parents had a very strict disciplined lifestyle. So as a girl, sometimes I would like to say no if they asked me or commanded me to do something, but I always wanted to please my father and my mother. Finally, I only said, "Okay. Yes," and "Yes," and "Yes." Actually, sometimes I didn't agree with their advice or commands, but that's life. But actually, my father and mother were very careful caring for me, loved me so much and also always dressed me up nice like this—they were very happy but so strict.So, as a young girl, I was always like this. Well, actually, my father, my late father, was a master in silversmithing. So seven years before independence, Indonesia's Independence Day, he was sent by Indonesia—still a colony of Holland—to America, to San Francisco. So for him, it was very exciting going to Jakarta and then going to America, but then there were no planes at that time in 1938. Can you imagine? So going there and back, of course, by boat. Forty days, but he said it was a very beautiful experience, of course. Fourteen months in the United States.Well, he came back, and he managed maybe more than a hundred employees to do silversmithing. So making a teapot or coffee pot or tea strainer or cutlery and a little bit of jewelry. Sometimes my late father made jewelry for me. I didn't say no, but actually, I didn't like it. It wasn't of interest to me because it was too intricate. I like more simplicity, actually, but I never expressed this to my father. Again I always said, "Yes, thank you very much." But then I gave it to my friend, the jewelry, but I never let on. I was just okay, I'll just keep it, but actually, I gave it to my friend. At the time, I was also feeling strange because my father never involved me in this kind of field because Central Java is very conservative. So no ladies or noblemen doing this kind of thing. So for me, I felt like there was no place for me. I couldn't do anything. So I just hoped and hoped that maybe one day my father would make a special decision pleasing me.It comes through when I was nine years old. Finally, my late father said, "Runi, you are so shy and introverted." Then "I think you need to go to not only the elementary school, but you have to do something else. So on Sunday, no break. Sunday morning from nine to twelve, you have to learn classical dance." So I learned from an expert. The expert was the uncle of the King of Jogja. So a good source. So I said, "Okay." "And then in the afternoons at four till six-thirty, you have to join Scouts." "Scouts?" And then, "Okay." I cannot say no, only okay. So as a girl, I was forced to be like that, you know, no break at all, but I always said, "Okay." I did my best. And I tried to be more confident and focused. But I had to go there alone by bicycle then. So every Sunday I was so tired, you know, from morning until evening. But maybe because he gave me like spirit, so the spirits become energy. Energy becomes cheerful. I don't know.But finally, the reason becomes so fruitful. From those dance lessons, I became the best dancer at that time. And my favorite teacher was surprised that sometimes as a girl, I turned, showing my back, and my teacher said, "No, you have to show the front." "Okay." So I always showed my movements from inside and so fully focused. So he liked it so much. So that's why he gave me chances. Many chances to perform dance at many high-end occasions.And then also for Fifi IP guests who came from Jakarta because the Fifi IP guests from Jakarta after meeting with our president, usually their destination was Yogyakarta, then Bali. So in Yogyakarta, they should see the classical dance and also go sightseeing to the temples—Hindu temple, Buddhist temple, etc. So I was surprised I became so famous. And I was young for a classical dancer. So every time I got applause, or sometimes the audience gave me flowers. So I kept the flowers until they dried because, you know, it was so meaningful for me. And not only this.From the lessons as a scout, I became more open-minded. I was capable of conducting a choir. Like this, you know? And then also the drum band and the marching band. I was always at the front, and the marching band was mainly male and only two females—me and my friend. So I was surprised that I became so open and not only this, but I became brave and tough able to face difficulties. I would smile at difficulties. "Okay. Smile." So I become more tough. Not only that, I also started to like flowers, arranging flowers. So when people came to my house, I always showed them my flower arrangements, even though the flowers were just from the garden, you know. And then not only this—I became good with my hands. I liked to dress up my hair with many different styles. So I didn't go to a hair salon. And also with scarves, so many kinds of styles—making scarves elegant or sporty or anything else, I could do it. And then sarongs. Make sarongs sexy or . . . Okay! So I became a different woman . . . not yet married . . . so a different girl.At seventeen years old, I got a chance to go overseas because the last days of seventeen wasn't good in Central Java. So at seventeen years old, after finishing high school, "Okay. Let's go abroad." I got the chance of one month in the Philippines. So in the Philippines, of course, I could visit many cities because I had one month. And I also got a chance to perform at Malacañang. Have you been to Manila? Malacañang is the state palace in Manila—so I could meet the president and first lady. And then back to Indonesia. Only two months.And then I got a continuous journey. It's more exciting. New York. Wow. New York! Are you from New York? So New York for me. Wow. It's the city that never sleeps. Oh, I wanted to see this, you know. So, of course, I was so happy, and there was training before going to New York. I had to learn for one month at a training center in Jakarta how to sit down, how to be behave because I would be sent as like an ambassador—a cultural ambassador. So I had to learn many things.Do you know about the New York World's Fair in 1964? So fifty-seven years ago, I was there. I performed my dances in the Indonesia Pavilion at the New York World's Fair with my other friends from all over Indonesia. At that time I met eyes with somebody. Only this because you know my leader was so strict. So no dating or touching, no. Only this. Yeah, I met somebody, but he knew that I was shy, of course, and also scared of my leader.So we are staying on Long Island. You know Long Island, yeah? So there are four wings. The first wing was for the interior decorators' group and another one was for information aid group. And this was for dancers and also for musicians. So every morning, when I went to the Indonesia Pavilion, of course, I dressed up nicely with a sarong and everything. Within twenty minutes, I have to be dressed up. Only twenty minutes. This, and then this, and then this—twenty minutes. If not, the bus will just leave without me. So I was always passing on the lobby, one lobby only, and I saw that man. Always sitting there and reading a newspaper, and I don't know seriously, but every time I passed by, he was like this. For me it was a nice feeling, you know? But then I didn't see him anymore. It seemed that as an interior designer for Indonesia, he was an interior designer for the Indonesia Pavilion.So maybe because he was finished and then went back home. So I didn't see him anymore. And then, there was a competition among the pavilions from all over the world at the New York World's Fair. And, you know, the Indonesia Pavilion was second after the winner—Spain. Yes. So I was so excited, of course. And then, I performed in front of the very charming leading star Lucille Ball and also singers like Harry Belafonte. After that, my journey to Paris, and there I also performed at the Palais de Chaillot—an opera house in Trocadero. And got the chance to meet our president, the first president, President Sukarno, at the Indonesia Embassy. I was so grateful. And then from there to Amsterdam. I was in Amsterdam maybe ten days. I also performed in front of Queen Juliana.At that time, I met him again. I was surprised. What is he doing here? But okay, I didn't care. And then, I was back home. I had culture shock because in Yogyakarta I felt Amsterdam, Paris, New York, and Yogyakarta is so dark, you know, not too much light. I was stressful. And then I had a feeling. Oh, I have to go from Yogyakarta. And I talked to my late father. I had to continue my study at the advanced place at Bandung. Bandung is near Jakarta. So I entered the Bandung Institute of Textile. You know how it is when entering university. There they dressed me up like crazy, and then I had to ride a bicycle.And I was on the way to my dormitory, and then I met again this man. But he was driving with special sunglasses—trendy ones. Of course. I turned to the right into a small alley. You know, I didn't want to meet him because I was embarrassed, but he was clever. He caught me in the end and, since then, we became friends. And then he said, "I would like to see your parents." And that was in 1965.In 1967, I became his wife. And then, after one year, the first child was born. So he was like thinking, "Runi, maybe you miss something" because I was active, you know, dancing and then just being with the baby with the crying and everything. "What you want to do besides this?" "I want to be a choreographer." "A choreographer? You must be on the stage again. It means you need applause." "Oh." "So, what do you think? Why don't you continue in your father's footsteps?" And then again, I said, "Yes, yes." But actually, I didn't have any ideas. Zero, but because of again my energy and trial and error, and then twenty-five years, forty years later, I'm still doing it. And actually, why I love my husband and love Bali because at the time, 1978, Adrian got a job in the Hyatt Sanur—the renovation of the rooms. And I was appointed as dress designer for the uniforms. And after that, we were thinking, okay, maybe later—we have three children already married—then we have to go back to Bali and move to Bali for good.So that's why now I'm in Bali. And then, on the twenty-five-year anniversary of Runa Jewelry, Adrian gave me a special gift, a museum—officially opened by the governor. And praise the Lord for forty years, I'm okay. I got all the appreciation. A book from the craft council as appreciation. And then thanks. Thank God that I always say, "Yes, yes, yes" to my father and to my husband. And so I feel blessed that now I have been already fifty-three years married. I have three children, seven grandchildren, and maybe in another two months great-grandchildren coming. So I'm so cheerful to be here because this is the best season and the best time to know all of you. And thank you very much, Colleen, you are a very nice lady and also model my jewelry. Very nice. Thank you so much for your trust. Nice to meet you.