25 & 26 February 2025
During these quiet days, Lisa and I spent long stretches in conversation—reflecting on how this time is asking us to slow down and appreciate the stillness. We spoke about what it means to balance our often-busy lives with the grounded rhythm we’ve found here. There’s a sense that this moment, this sacred pause, is preparing us for something greater. Perhaps this is one of the reasons we were called to the ashram: not just to serve, but to learn how to carry this balance forward into our futures.
I can already feel the ache beginning to form at the thought of her leaving. In a short time, Lisa has become more than a friend—she feels like a mother figure, a guide, and a soul sister. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were family in another lifetime. Who knows, maybe one of my next adventures will take me to Mexico to visit her.
Behind the scenes, I’ve been searching for volunteer opportunities in Nepal. I had really hoped to return to this magical country, especially since it felt like the most obvious visa-run option. But the vision is dissolving… Flight prices have nearly doubled, the visa is expensive, and many “volunteer” programs seem to misunderstand the very concept. Being expected to work six hours a day and pay $20+ for accommodation and staff costs feels more like sponsorship than service.
Being South African adds an extra layer of difficulty. There’s an assumption that all Western travelers have access to euros or dollars, and it’s frustrating to constantly explain that I simply don’t. The exchange rate makes these volunteer “contributions” unrealistic, and it’s disheartening to feel priced out of opportunities that should be based on mutual exchange, not financial gain.
As anxiety crept in over what to do when my Indian visa expires at the end of April, I turned once again to my trusty guide—ChatGPT—and stumbled across a new possibility: Malaysia.
I hadn’t considered it before, but the more I explored, the more it resonated. Flights were far cheaper than Nepal, and I wouldn’t need a visa in advance. It was spontaneous, unexpected, and—let’s be honest—a little terrifying. But something in me said, “Go.” And so, I booked my ticket. I have no idea what awaits me on the other side, but my heart is fluttering with a familiar kind of excitement.
This trip is teaching me to walk on water—to trust when the ground disappears beneath my feet. I’m being asked to hold faith on all levels.
But tonight, that faith feels a little fragile. Even though I’ve only been gone a few weeks, I’m homesick. My heart aches for familiar faces—for the music and chaos at Karen’s house, for the horses and trees of Kaapsehoop, for the people who know me without explanation.
Travel is beautiful, yes. But it’s also lonely. And right now, in this beautiful ashram room, I would give anything for a night on the couch back home, wrapped in laughter and belonging.
Just for a little while.
