Purple Light, Perfect Chaos
There's something rather poetic about trading Singapore's perfectly manicured skyline for Bali's wonderfully chaotic soul. In 2013, that's exactly what I did – swapping my Marina Bay office for a rickety desk at one of Canggu's first coworking spaces.
Glass and Steel
Singapore had been good to me. The lead generation business was thriving, my calendar was perpetually full, and my bank account looked rather healthy. Each month, I'd write a cheque for 3,500 Singapore dollars to live in a sleek high-rise – the price of admission to the city's carefully curated perfection. But success, as it turns out, can be surprisingly hollow when measured solely in Singapore dollars.
Each morning, I'd watch suits and shadows dance across glass facades, wondering if anyone else felt as disconnected as I did. The city's efficiency was remarkable, but its sterility was suffocating. Every corner was predictable, every interaction scripted, every moment measured against the unrelenting pace of commerce.
Finding Bali's Rhythm
The decision to close the business wasn't made in a boardroom. It happened on a weekend escape to Bali, sitting cross-legged on Echo Beach with a warm Bintang in hand. The sunset that evening wasn't particularly spectacular, but something about the way the fading light painted the sky in gentle purples and pinks spoke to a part of me I'd forgotten existed.
In those early days, Canggu was still finding its feet. The handful of digital nomads gathered at makeshift coworking spaces felt more like a family than a community. We'd share stories over long lunches at warung cafes, our laptops collecting dust while we discovered what it meant to work at a more human pace.
The Art of Slowing Down
"You don't chase light in Bali," a local photographer told me one evening. "You let it find you."
He wasn't wrong. That particular evening, I'd lugged my camera down to the beach, determined to capture something spectacular. The technical setup was perfect – camera perched on a sturdy tripod, neutral density filters at the ready, composition carefully considered.
But Bali had other plans.
A Different Kind of Frame
As I fussed with settings and filters, the sky erupted into an impossible display of colour. Purple bled into pink, orange danced with yellow, and the wet sand became a mirror, doubling nature's performance. In my rush to capture the perfect shot, I'd nearly missed the moment entirely.
The resulting image – technically imperfect but somehow more honest for it – became a metaphor for my transition. Sometimes the most meaningful frames aren't the ones we meticulously plan, but the ones we surrender to.
Before the Boom
Looking back at that photo now, it captures more than just a sunset. It preserves a moment when Bali still felt like a secret. Before the Instagram crowds descended on Canggu, before every rice field sprouted a boutique hotel, before the quiet was filled with the constant hum of progress.
The digital nomad scene was in its infancy then. We didn't have sleek coworking spaces with artisanal coffee and high-speed wifi. What we had was better – a genuine connection to place and people, forged over shared sunsets and slow conversations.
A Bittersweet Frame
That evening in 2013, watching purple light paint the sky while my camera clicked quietly beside me, I couldn't have known how quickly things would change. The Bali of today is different – still beautiful, still magical, but increasingly difficult to find beneath layers of development and tourism.
But perhaps that's the nature of photographs – they don't just capture light and shadow, they preserve moments that slip away too quickly. That sunset shot, technically imperfect but emotionally precise, reminds me of a simpler time when finding peace was as easy as watching purple light fade into darkness over a quiet beach in Bali.
Sometimes I wonder if I'd make the same choice today, leaving behind Singapore's certainty for Bali's beautiful chaos. Then I look at that photo, with its impossible colours and perfect imperfections, and I know the answer hasn't changed.
Some transitions can't be measured in dollars or data. Sometimes success looks like purple sunsets and warm Bintang, and peace comes not from chasing light, but from learning to let it find you.
