Writing about Ubud is like writing a poem. You wish you had a lyrical tone to it somewhere or your sentences can somehow magically rhyme to convey the sensual flavours you’ve just experienced.
To me walking into Ubud was like walking into a painting. The lush green rice fields painted the perfect backdrop to the architectural marvels on display. But that’s hardly the end of it – it is the beginning.
Ubud is like a flower, and to me, I was the one smelling each one of its petals – each of a different colour. The feeling can’t be described by words, it can be somewhat described by some photographs. When I processed them, they spoke a story to me: of the colours of life, the beauty of simplicity, the transcending power of beliefs, and the juxtaposition of them all to evolve the fabric of life. I wanted the images to each tell a story, but then thought what was the need of it all? Does life need to have a meaning at the end of it? Does it need to tell a story? Do I need to describe each step of my journey and every rationale for my action?
And so I’ve let these images communicate in a way you understand them to me. A few additional facts give the smell of context.