Perhaps it is the canang sari incense that perpetually hovers in the Balinese air, or the detoxifying heat of the tropical sun.

Whatever it is, it seems that more and more urbanites are getting intoxicated with the so-called Bali high after spending time on the island: A euphoric bliss that can lead you to start making plans to leave the city life you have always known and chase the idyllic dream of laidback island living.

Between going back to a stressful rat race through traffic-choked streets and the idea of an island life that seems to offer a degree of freedom from the punishing daily grind, the choice seems alluringly, deceptively simple.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since my one-way ticket to Bali eight years ago, it’s that living here—or perhaps on any island—requires a constant renegotiation between our desires and the realities on the ground.

Expectations unmet

I probably had it better than most. Coming to Bali with the gullibility of a fresh-out-of-college girl, I had nothing to lose.

But for many who make the move, they see the island dream as a second chance — a way to divorce themselves from a toxic environment, to reconnect with their once free-spirited selves, or to finally truly enjoy life, even if only during their golden years.

The latter was what Sukma Mentari wanted: A retirement home in Bali. She is no stranger to the island, having been in and out of it since she was a young girl.

But after she bought a piece of land in 2014 to begin working on this dream, her life changed dramatically in ways she had not anticipated.

Not wanting to leave the land idle, she decided to build a guest house on it as a business.

“Back then it was something that I thought I could monitor from Jakarta,” Sukma said.

But the problematic construction process, which included workers disappearing on her, took such a toll that she said it was a “miracle” they could complete the guesthouse.

“This is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done,” said Sukma, who had to relocate to Bali in 2016, earlier than planned. “People think it’s so fun to live in Bali. They have no idea how stressed we were about construction workers not showing up!”

Even when the guesthouse was finally up and running, Sukma still had to closely supervise her staff and manage bookings herself, finally admitting that “there was no way I couldn’t be there full time.”

Like Sukma, many who relocate to Bali soon realise that island living comes with its own set of challenges and complexities.

To start with, there’s nothing pragmatic about it. It surely can’t be for the money.

Building a business, especially in Bali, requires extensive local knowledge. Wages might be lower than in Jakarta, but the cost of living is not necessarily cheaper. And job opportunities are rather limited to hospitality.

Considering a peaceful retirement island? Prepare for all kinds of debauchery. Got kids? Private schools are limited and expensive. The same goes for medical care in case of emergencies.

The dream of work-life balance, typically involving picturesque walks along the shore during sunset, is evaporating as the traffic in Bali is almost comparable to big cities.

Tourists can temporarily suspend their grasp on reality, attributing two-hour traffic jams to bad luck during the high season. But residents have no such luxury.

“The island we once knew is now gone,” we say to ourselves with apathy.

What’s left? Perhaps not much for some people. This sobering reality can throw others into an existential crisis.

Buying a one-way ticket home might then seem like the quickest and least painful way out.

Connecting to the island

Some of the long-term residents of Bali I spoke with, many of whom have lived here for nearly 20 years, could still vividly recall their early years on the island, fuelled by a new lust for life.

“This island opened up a whole new world to me,” said Puji Siswanti, who moved to Bali from Bandung in 2005.

However, Puji hit rock bottom in 2014, losing both her family and her business.

“I was buried under the ashes of years spent building a successful jewellery business and a family in Bali,” she said.

What was once the island of her dreams had turned into a gaping void. She continued working numerous gigs to survive on the island, including being an online driver, where she met “visitors who later became my best friends,” Puji said.

This marked a turning point in her life.

“I had been on the island for a decade. I built a jewellery business here, worked with many local artisans, breathed its air, drank its water, but I don’t think I had a spiritual connection with the island. We’re not bound by spirits,” Puji said.

“It felt like a contract. Transactional.”

“I thought to myself, you want to live in Bali, right? You don’t want to go back to Bandung, right? So how can you connect more with the island?” Puji said.

“It took me years to fully accept Bali as it is, including the way people work here.”

This fighting spirit seems to be common among those committed to island life, and not just in Bali. It’s a fire they continue to fan, which is almost ironic, considering that the island dream is portrayed as an easy-breezy lifestyle.

But perhaps to truly make the island your home, there is no escaping these questions: Why are you here? Why this place? What does the island mean to you? How can you contribute to it?

When an island fills you with a natural high, that kind of selfless rumination often comes last. And rarely do we ever need to put a place—or an island—so central in our existence that thinking about our relationship to that place becomes a natural, if not necessary, question.

Sometimes, this contribution can be more practical, as simple as spotting what’s missing in a city and turning that into a business opportunity.

“I had to think: what are some of the biggest commodities coming out of Flores?” said Krisman Lyberty, a geographer who moved to Labuan Bajo in 2017 and stayed through the pandemic.

Like many other islands, Labuan Bajo’s burgeoning industry is hospitality and Krisman fashioned himself a tour guide after moving to the islands.

But when the pandemic struck, he had to quickly pivot to other occupations, including trading coffee and even farming pigs.

“I didn’t want to move back to Jakarta.”

It didn’t bother him much, considering he has mastered the art of building a social network across islands.

“I have known many coffee farmers in Flores since 2018. A year later, a friend of mine came from Malang, and we decided to open a roastery there,” he recounted.

It turned out to be a saving grace during the pandemic.

“During those two years, I just traded coffee across Flores and sent it to our roastery in Malang.”

The fishing town itself is relatively small, with less than 10,000 residents. Life is quiet in the town, but it doesn’t matter.

Now working again as a tour guide, Krisman is away travelling most of the month and occasionally sails on a phinisi boat across East Nusa Tenggara. That easily beats sitting in gridlock for hours.

It chooses you

It seems there’s no point in forming a concrete plan when we want to chase the island dream. After all, it’s more like an adventure than a settlement.

An island can change so much within five years that our love for it can turn sour, if we don’t remain nimble and open to unexpected events.

“I found myself here,” said Christina Arum Handayani, explaining how the island was like a “giant canvas” for her to learn about everything from history to the environment.

Much of that can perhaps be credited to the less bureaucratic working environment, creating a fertile ground for creative experiments.

“There’s little judgment here,” she said, which means “I can be more honest with myself.”

“Once I decided that I wanted to contribute to Bali, many doors opened. This is where I try new skills,” said Christina, who has juggled multiple jobs ranging from managing festivals to running tours. “And I’m doing fine financially.”

“I wholeheartedly believe that people don’t choose Bali, but Bali chooses you,” said Christina, a statement echoed by Sukma.

Though Sukma contemplates buying land elsewhere for her retirement home, it’s undeniable that Bali has made a significant impact on her life. How could it not?

“I can stare at the three mountains from my backyard,” said Sukma. “You gain a new perspective on wealth once you arrive in Bali.”

Acknowledging that island life isn’t for everyone, Puji said, “You have to be creative if you want to live here. You have to really want it.”

And then perhaps, as those who have woven their lives into the fabric of the island found, you’ll discover dreams that are different, yet more profound, than the ones you first had.