Bad Blood

When I first arrived in Bali, I didn’t allow myself to be afraid. If I did I would have turned around and gone home. Instead, I cranked up the music on my iPhone blasting the Bastille Bad Blood album and danced around a dry erase board in my bikini. In the hotel room with a few fashion books and summer attire hung like on holiday, I dreamed and planned the master scheme. Whenever a thought of doubt tried to squeeze into the room I shut the door.

I refused to be a victim of my own fear. It was like that the first month, constantly pushing my limits venturing to markets unknown, talking Indonesian roughly and asking questions. I was not happy with what I found, but deep in my heart I knew there was always an answer. I was banging my head against a theoretical wall. Other designers gave up on Bali and went to other countries for production saying, ‘the quality was poor and the follow through worse’.

I remember being on a scattered skype line with my ex-boyfriend. On the verge of tears, I refused to believe my own insecurities for I knew if I held on hard enough for long enough gold would surface. I would solve the riddle of effective manufacturing on the island. There was so much beauty and artistry in their culture that I was convinced that together we could make something truly magical. Failure was never an option. Looking back I see that the key to my success was believing to the point of realization by blocking out the noise of other people’s doubts and spending more time acting and learning from mistakes.

Pretend camping trip with my sister in the garden.

Pretend camping trip with my sister in the garden.

Summertime fun

Summertime fun

Looking at the world in a new light.

Looking at the world in a new light.

Playing school during summer break.

Playing school during summer break.

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