On Monday Wayan picked me up to go visit the orphanage in Bali that had I visited in February. I had some gifts I wanted to give the kids.
“How you doing, Kristeen?” Wayan asked.
“I’m a little sad today. I just found out I definitely have to go home on May 9. My work needs me in a few weeks so I can’t extend my trip beyond May 9 like I thought. I’m feeling sad about going back to America,” I complained.
“What? You think you angel with no job?” Wayan looked at me and snorted with laughter.
“Huh?”
“You think, Kristeen, that you can just do the spa, massage, eat food in restaurants, do the yoga, the rest of your whole life? You think you just can fly around with no job to do? You think you the special angel with no job? Come on Kristeen! I no feel sorry for you.”
He balled up his fist and pretended to cry. ” ‘WAH! WAH! WAH!’ goes the little baby,” he wailed.
He smiled at me as we turned a corner.
Darn.
I wanted violin serenades of pity from him and instead he was now shaking his head at me in amusement.
“You like a battery,” Wayan said.
“What are you talking about Wayan?!” I asked, a bit miffed that he was not more sympathetic.
“It is simple. You like a battery. You go to America, do the work. I understand it hard in America, Kristeen. Everyone so busy. Very fast-paced is the life there in America. Not like in Bali. I understand. You working very hard in America. But now you have the Bali to help you. Bali will recharge you. You work for 8, 9, 10 months in America and then spend the rest of the year in Bali. You the battery. Bali is battery charger. Bali will always be here for you, Kristeen. Not going anywhere. I will be here too.”
This man.
I look at him and smile.
He really is my teacher. Thank you God, thank you God, thank you God for Wayan. He’s the BEST.
We drive to the orphanage and on the way I see rolling, gorgeous layers of rice fields, men cutting grass with big machetes, women carrying everything on their heads: cement blocks, buckets of dirt, baskets of fruit.
I can feel my premeditative sadness at leaving Bali in less than a month melting away as we drive along the road.
I still have nearly a month. I don’t want to waste any time mourning leaving Bali while I’m still here. That’s crazy.
We visit the orphanage and play with the kids for a couple of hours. They are pure and utter sweetness.
Wayan drives me home and I’m noticing how awkward it is to talk about money for his taxi rides now that were are friends. Of course I want to pay him and am anticipating paying him, it’s just that talking about it and coming to a price is uncomfortable for us both, I think. I’ve hired him to drive me to the orphanage and we are almost back to my bungalow.
I muster up the courage to put a voice to the very large elephant that is riding with us in the car.
“How much do I owe you, Wayan?”
He’s quiet.
The silence is awkward and a bit embarrassing.
Then he parks in front of my bungalow entrance and turns to me.
“Kristeen, you no have to pay anymore. I take you where you want to go. You family now. You like my sister. The nieces, they think you family too: Ina, she calls you Auntie Kristeen and Inda, she calls you Auntie Kristeen. My sister-in-law think you family also. You don’t pay. Today we go to the, how-you-say-it?”
“Orphanage,” I can barely sputter out the word. I’m getting choked up. He feels like family to me and has since I arrived back in Bali but it is the first time he’s said it.
I’ve been calling him my SoulBrother in emails to my friends and last week I found out that his birthday is May 14, the same day as my ‘real’ brother Ezra’s birthday.
“Yes, we go to the orphanage today and you don’t have to pay because you family now. I take you where you want to go. No charge for you, Kristeen.”
I put 200,000 rupiah ($20) on his dashboard and smile.
“Yes, we are family and I’m still going to pay you,” I say.
We look at each other and grin big, wide smiles and I shut the door and he drives off.
About Me: 
