1.Nothing but Daily Life: Dear neighbor

I entered a guest house in Bali, just for the night.
As I walked in with my bags — far too heavy for such a short stay — my attention was caught by a man sitting in a chair, soaking in the morning sun.
He was by the pool, silver hair down to the shoulders, gaze fixed on the grass, while a hypnotic white smoke from his cigarette drifted in the shade. Half his body naked, black shorts — or maybe underwear.
As a photographer, my mind holds too many details, and it’s hard not to spin them into a whole story. In a glance, his posture spoke of hopelessness, a quiet sense of defeat.
I left.

Later, close to evening, I came back — tired from the traffic, the noise, the pollution, the heat. I sat by the grass overlooking the sea, reading in the calm of the fading light until it was gone.
On my way to my room, I glanced into the one next door. The same man sat inside, this time staring at the wall. Same hair, same shorts, same stillness. I got the same feeling.

How strange, I thought…

Things got intense around 7 p.m. when he started coughing. At first small, it built into what I believe was the most intense coughing attack I’d ever witnessed. I wouldn’t be writing this if it hadn’t been that overwhelming. I had never, ever heard anything like it. In between coughing and gagging, trying to clear his throat, came bursts of Italian. The evening turned loud.

I distracted myself by reading some more. During my night meditation, I used his cough and his Italian conversations as a way of working with my mind — just focusing on the breath: 1–2, damn, 1–2–3…

I was angry. Angry that my room had such thin walls — almost like paper — and I had paid for it, little as it was. Still!

Frustrated, annoyed that I couldn’t find peace. I wanted rest, and sleep felt impossible with all that noise. I noticed how easy it is to get caught in emotions: anger, frustration, annoyance. Even these small, uncomfortable situations take a toll. I felt stressed.

Sleep came, but not without interruptions. I woke a few times between dreams, always to the foreign sound of an Italian cough next door.

At 5 a.m. the alarm woke me. I felt unrested, but I still wanted to practice yoga, and I did, from six to seven — until my silver-haired neighbor began another coughing fit.

Maybe it was the hour of practice, but I didn’t feel anger, it felt more like curiosity.

How can someone cough like that for so long? And with so much strength?!

I understood that my anger was a lot of tireness, and it wasn’t just about him or his coughing, but about my own inability to control the situation.
Truth be told, I didn’t feel compassion, even though I know in my mind that compassion is worth cultivating, and that we are all worthy of it. I am working on it.

I guess I feel really uncomfortable with the fact that he was smoking and knew he was worsening his situation. It bothers me to my bones when someone clings to what harms them — maybe because I see in them what I can’t stand in myself.

I didn’t finish the practice, but I sat in “silence,” training my mind into stillness under the noise of the waking hours. I showered and prepare to leave.

When I stepped outside, there he was again, under the sun, his white hair shining. Half-

naked, little black shorts. He looked me in the eye and said, “Hello, good morning,” cheerful as a boy. His round eyes looked straight into mine. I was surprised, to say the least.

The story I had collected in my mind didn’t fit this childlike man. Not his stance. Here he was, filled with energy.
“Are you on the motorbike?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I said, helmet already in hand, ready to go.

I stopped and asked — “You were coughing all this time?”

He stood up from the chair and replied, “Ohh yeah, and I’m already smoking.” He turned to leave, then looked back at me and said, “But I smoke only in the morning,” laughing resignedly as he went into his room.

I replied, “Ohh, you don’t need to explain, I just thought you were very sick.”

And I left for good.

It took me by surprise. Contradictions provoke me, they irritate me — because I guess they remind me of my own. It has taken me years to see them, and more years to change even a few. Still, they trigger me.
Of course, in an instant it’s impossible to read a person, let alone understand them. His posture of defeat one day and his energy the next felt like two different humans — in my mind.
We create stories, but life rarely fits them.

This was just an encounter, small in itself, but enough to show me my own agitation, my judgments, and the work I still have to do.

In my mind, I saw misery. Maybe he was miserable, at least during the coughing. Maybe that is his own contradiction: hours of gagging coughin, and yet a childlike way of looking at it, as if it didn’t matter. Perhaps it is that same contradiction that leads him to keep smoking — caught between suffering and dismissal, unable or unwilling to let go, maybe an addiction… who knows?

I am learning to see what each day has to offer me — to reflect, to grow.