ChiCuapCuap~

Out of the 31 days in May, 15 of them were holidays. Nearly half of the month was spent away from the usual work routine. It truly felt like the definition of work-life balance that people often talk about. 

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if every month had this many holidays. Perhaps stress levels would be much lower. On the other hand, work might feel more rushed because there would be fewer effective working days. Who knows? What I do know is that the number of holidays this May was enough to make me lose track of the days more than once. There were moments when I had to stop and think for a second just to remember what day it was.

With so much free time available, we decided to have a staycation in our own city in the middle of the month. Yay, finally some quality time with the family. We intentionally looked for a place with a swimming pool and a more relaxed atmosphere. Not a large, crowded hotel, but a small villa that felt warm and private. Alhamdulillah, it turned out to be such a wonderful experience. We did not have to travel far, yet it felt enough to recharge the energy that had gradually been running low.

Toward the end of the month, my parents came to visit and spend time with their grandchild. Their visit lasted only about four days, but it was more than enough for me. Seeing them healthy, having conversations together, and watching them play with their grandchild brought a kind of happiness that is difficult to put into words. There is always a special warmth that comes with family gatherings, no matter how brief they may be.

Sometimes I wish every month included a few extra holidays in addition to weekends. However, as a parent, I also understand the dilemma that comes with it. When there is a public holiday, children are usually off from school as well. That means extra energy, patience, and attention are needed for parenting. In the end, a day off does not always mean a day of rest.

Perhaps that is simply part of adulthood. We constantly look forward to having time to rest, yet when that time finally arrives, there is always something else that needs our attention. Still, May reminded me that rest is not always about sleeping longer or doing less. Sometimes, rest is seeing your parents smile, hearing your child laugh, or simply spending time with the people you love. Because in the end, the energy drained by daily routines is often restored not when we stop moving, but when we remember who we are doing it all for.

As we grow older, we come to realize that rest is not always about stopping work; sometimes, it is about returning to the people and moments that make life meaningful.

For the past few days, something in my husband has felt… altered. Not abruptly, not loudly, but in a way that unsettles. As if something within him has quietly shifted out of place. Our laughter, once harmless, now seems to grate on him too loud, too intrusive. Whatever my child does is deemed wrong, and somehow, I become the recipient of his discontent. Each time his temper rises, I retreat into silence. Not because I am blameless, nor because I have nothing to say, but because I have learned that resistance only prolongs the unrest.

And yet, at the very beginning of this month, something fractured.

We argued, truly argued, in a way we rarely do. Because this time, I did not remain silent. I answered him. I met his gaze without flinching. I returned every harsh word, my composure unraveling until even my own restraint betrayed me, and even threw my phone in a surge of emotion.

It all unfolded before our child, who was already crying in pain, his small arm having been roughly pulled as my husband dragged him from the living room, where laughter had only moments before filled the air.

The contrast was unbearable.

Truthfully, I have been enduring for far longer than I care to admit. Existing in a state of quiet endurance, hoping that something might shift on its own.

He is aware that he is unemployed, and yet he does not seem to grasp the gravity of that reality. If he cannot yet provide in one way, could he not compensate in another? The house, the child, the invisible labor that sustains our daily lives these are not mine alone to carry.

Isn’t this our home? Then why does everything feel like it’s solely my responsibility? The house, our child, everything falls on me. I am so, so tired. And yet, I carry them. Exhaustion has become a constant undercurrent in me. Meanwhile, he drifts through his days, retiring at three in the morning after hours of gaming, waking near midday, repeating the same rhythm without disruption. Even in moments meant for togetherness, his attention remains tethered to his phone. His presence is merely physical, his mind and affections remain elsewhere, inaccessible.

It is a peculiar kind of loneliness. And slowly, inevitably, it ignited something in me. All of this kept building inside me until I finally broke.

If even our laughter is an affront to him, then perhaps it is we who must leave. I told him we would return to my parents’ home, to a place where my child’s joy would not be treated as a disturbance. I spoke with a steadiness that belied the turbulence within me. My child’s cries threaded through every word, turning the moment into something I will not easily forget.

Then he left. No explanation. No attempt to mend what had just been shattered. Just absence.

A thought, stark and unsettling, crossed my mind. If his anger had escalated further, if he had raised his hand again, that would have been my definitive moment. The moment I would leave without hesitation. But somehow, he held himself back.

Still, I could not help but wonder, he has only just secured a single freelance project, and already he carries himself as though burdened beyond measure. If such a small responsibility unsettles him, what would happen if he were entrusted with more? 

A harsher thought followed, unbidden. Perhaps this is why he has not yet been granted stability. Perhaps he is not ready. And yet, even as the thought formed, I recoiled from it. What kind of wife entertains such notions?

I have been told, often, that a wife must remain grateful, must remain supportive, that a wife’s disposition can ease her husband’s path to provision. But if that gratitude must be feigned, does it still hold meaning? And would God not perceive the dissonance between what is spoken and what is truly felt?

Then came another possibility, distance.

Perhaps we would be better apart, at least for a time. Perhaps in separation, we might find clarity that proximity has denied us. Or perhaps… it is nothing more than a justification, a quiet permission I grant myself to leave a home that no longer feels hospitable to my child’s laughter.

Some time later, he returned. He held us, both of us and apologized. His voice softer, his presence gentler, as though attempting to gather what had come undone.

But something within me remained unmoved.

And that, perhaps, is what troubles me most, not the anger, not the argument, but the quiet, growing realization that forgiveness no longer comes to me as easily as it once did.

 Jadi, begini ya rasanya menjadi tulang punggung keluarga?

Masih tanggal segini, tapi uang sudah habis. Ini sudah kedua kalinya saldo ATM tidak sampai seratus ribu, bahkan kali ini, lima puluh ribu pun tidak ada. Gas di rumah juga sudah habis. Kalau salah satu dari gas untuk water heater atau kompor mati, tidak ada cadangan. Harus dipakai bergantian sampai gajian tiba, padahal gajian masih seminggu lagi.

Beberapa malam terakhir, aku sering terbangun. Bukan karena suara, tapi karena pikiran. Besok makan apa? Itu yang terus berputar di kepala. Beras sudah hampir habis, dan mau tidak mau harus beli. Aku jadi teringat sesuatu yang pernah aku baca: selama masih punya uang, belilah beras lebih banyak. Supaya ketika nanti tidak punya uang, setidaknya di rumah masih ada yang bisa dimasak. Soal lauk, entah apa. Bahkan dengan kerupuk pun, rasanya sudah cukup untuk disyukuri.

Tapi tetap saja, ada satu pertanyaan yang terus mengganggu: apakah kami bisa bertahan sampai seminggu ke depan?

Entahlah.

Yang bisa aku lakukan sekarang hanya berpegang pada satu hal, percaya. Tuhan Maha Penyayang, Maha Pemurah, Maha Pemberi Rezeki. Meski kadang logika tidak bisa menjangkau, aku memilih untuk tetap percaya. Aku sudah sampai di titik pasrah, tapi bukan berarti menyerah. Aku tetap berjuang, setidaknya untuk bertahan.

Ketika hidup terasa sempit, percaya adalah ruang terakhir yang harus dijaga.

Malam itu, ada hal kecil yang tiba-tiba terasa besar padahal biasanya biasa saja. Suamiku ingin membuat mi untuk camilan. Padahal kami sudah makan nasi dengan ayam, bahkan dia sempat menambah. Aku sempat bertanya, “Lapar atau cuma ingin?” Dia menjawab, “Dua-duanya.” Aku diam sebentar, lalu hanya bilang, “Buat secukupnya saja, ya.”

Bukan tanpa alasan. Aku benar-benar tidak tahu kapan kami bisa belanja lagi. Di titik ini, aku sadar, makan bukan lagi soal keinginan, tapi soal kebutuhan. Keinginan untuk sekadar “ngunyah” terasa seperti kemewahan yang harus ditahan. Dan aku pun melakukan hal yang sama. Hari itu, aku sempat ingin makan burger. Sederhana, tapi terasa jauh. Aku menahan keinginan itu, mencoba mengingatkan diri sendiri bahwa sekarang bukan waktunya mengikuti hasrat. Makan harus karena butuh, bukan karena ingin. Karena hidup, ternyata, tidak sesederhana itu.

Saat keinginan harus dikalahkan oleh kebutuhan, di situlah hidup mengajarkan arti cukup.

Aneh ya, di tengah semua ini, nafsu makanku justru perlahan menghilang. Porsiku semakin sedikit, bahkan kadang malas makan. Mungkin ini caraku beradaptasi. Yang penting anak makan, yang penting suami makan sampai kenyang. Apalagi sekarang, aku tahu suamiku sedang rentan stres. Jadi aku harus lebih kuat, atau setidaknya terlihat kuat.

Kadang, aku masih bisa tersenyum. Masih bisa tertawa kecil. Tapi saat menuliskan semua ini, rasanya getir sekali. Begini ya, ternyata, rasanya menjalani hidup sebagai tulang punggung keluarga, saat dihadapkan langsung dengan realita.

Wow, March feels incredibly full of highlights. Some of them could even stand as their own stories, because I truly felt overwhelmed by waves of emotions coming one after another.

The world doesn’t feel okay. News about the conflict between Iran and the United States even made its way into my dreams. I dreamed about a bomb explosion, I was not as the main target, but still affected by the blast. It felt so painful, so real, that I woke up crying in fear, the pain still lingering as if it were real.

At the same time, social media has been filled with discussions about the end of times according to the Qur’an. Many people are sharing the signs, as if everything is already so close and clearly unfolding. It made me even more afraid. But I also realize that I don’t fully know which ones truly come from the Qur’an and hadith, and which ones have been distorted. In the end, only Allah knows the truth.

Then came the news of Vidi Aldiano’s passing. I didn’t know him personally, and I didn’t really follow his life closely. But somehow, his positive aura reached through the screen. There was something different about him. When he passed away, I felt a sense of loss. Social media was filled with stories about his kindness, about how he kept smiling through his illness. He was called the Ambassador of Friendship, and it didn’t feel like just a title. His sincerity felt real.

His struggle against illness reminded me of the story of Nabi Ayyub about patience in enduring long trials. I couldn’t even bring myself to open social media for a while because my heart felt heavy with sadness. It’s strange how someone we’ve never met can move us so deeply. Then I thought… if an ordinary person can have such an impact, what about Nabi Muhammad? His passing must have been an unimaginable grief for his entire ummah.

Amid all of this, my fear of the world only grew stronger. And yet, life goes on sometimes in the simplest ways… tiring, but also quietly comforting.

This month, we also traveled back to my hometown for Eid. Traveling with a toddler turned out to be full of unexpected moments. Annoying? Yes. But at the same time, it made me smile. It felt like, “ah… life really does have its own way of surprising us.” Even my parents were overwhelmed taking care of my endlessly active child. Toddlers really are like they’re missing an “off” button, haha.

There was one particularly “epic” moment. We had to stop for almost two hours at a rest area just because my child spilled a large amount of drinking water so much that my pants were completely soaked. And this happened right after we had just resumed the trip. We had no choice but to stop, while the rest area was crowded and the toilet lines were incredibly long. So we decided to just wait it out until lunchtime. But then, we got ripped off, just a simple penyetan meal somehow cost over 100,000 rupiah. When you think about it, iced tea + rice + fried catfish was nearly 50,000 on its own. Crazy expensive. But well… what could we do? All I could do was laugh. Sometimes life just doesn’t make sense.

In the middle of exhaustion, frustration, and all the discomfort… there were still small moments that felt warm. Moments that one day might be remembered as simple stories worth missing.

At the same time, the past suddenly resurfaced. My ex sent me a follow request on Instagram. I haven’t accepted it until now. Not because I’m not over the past, but because I’m learning to protect myself from things that are no longer important in my life.

How can I divide myself not only as a “rib,” but also as a “backbone”?

I still believe that God is Most Wise. And somehow, that belief alone is what’s still holding my heart together… even as it slowly feels like it’s falling apart.