Somehow, this month felt particularly weighty, and I found myself longing for home more than usual. I wanted to see my parents, to be there for a while, and perhaps simply to feel like I could breathe a little easier. But, as you know, my husband had only just started his new job and had not yet been granted any leave. Then, as I looked through the calendar, I noticed that Indonesia’s Independence Day had created a long weekend. It felt almost wasteful to let the opportunity pass by. After some hesitation, I finally mustered the courage to ask my husband, “Would it be alright if I went there alone?”

To my surprise, he agreed, on one condition: I had to take the train. Initially, I was quite adamant about taking a travel car instead. It was cheaper, and honestly, I wanted to be economical. But everyone seemed to think otherwise. They encouraged me to take the train because my child would probably be much more comfortable there, especially considering the six-hour journey. So, eventually, I relented and bought the train tickets. The journey took around six hours, and the fare was considerably more expensive. One train seat could cost almost twice as much as a seat in a travel car. I had genuinely hoped to save some money by taking the cheaper option, but sometimes practicality has to take precedence over frugality. And so, I went.

I finally got to see my parents and spent around four days with them. It was only the second time I had travelled by train on my own, and this time, I had my little companion with me. The trip was far from perfect. Travelling alone with a child is certainly not what I would call effortless. But despite the little inconveniences and exhaustion along the way, the trip was genuinely enjoyable. More importantly, I came home without regrets.

Sometimes, perhaps, we do not need a perfect holiday. We simply need a little respite from our usual routine.

This month, I also began cultivating another little dream of mine: turning my home into a greener place.

I did quite a bit of research and eventually realized that my original idea that I would simply grow vegetables and fruit was somewhat misguided. It turns out that growing edible plants is not always as straightforward as planting a seed, watering it, and waiting for the harvest. Many plants rely on pollinators to reproduce, and those tiny visitors are naturally drawn to flowers, especially ones with vibrant colors and alluring scents. Suddenly, my failed harvest of long white jipang made much more sense. The plant had produced plenty of flowers, yet hardly any fruit. I had been wondering what went wrong. Apparently, I had overlooked one very important part of the equation: nobody had come along to do the pollinating. Well, lesson learned.

So, I decided to broaden my little garden. I bought several vegetable seeds, and, naturally, quite a few flower seeds as well. Perhaps I need to invite more pollinators into my garden before I can expect my vegetables to thrive. Now I just hope I don't actually have what my mother calls “hot hands”. According to her, my hands are somehow too hot for plants, which is why everything I plant eventually gives up and dies, wkwkwk. I suppose we'll find out.

Another thing that marked this month was the beginning of a new chapter for this blog: I decided to make it age-restricted. Not because there is anything obscene or pornographic here. There isn't. What I write about is simply more adult in nature, the realities of married life, the weight of responsibility, depression, mental struggles, and all the less glamorous parts of growing older and building a family.

I suppose I became increasingly conscious of the fact that these are not exactly the kind of things I would want younger readers to stumble upon too early in life. Not because I believe they should be shielded from reality forever, but because life can already be heavy enough when you are older and have no particular privilege to cushion the fall. I would rather not have my unfiltered accounts of adulthood inadvertently become someone else's emotional burden while they are still too young to make sense of them. So, I decided that people who want to read this blog should at least be signed in with a Google account. No anonymous, incognito-window reading. Of course, I know this may affect the number of people who visit my blog. Perhaps the readership will decline. Honestly, I'm quite alright with that. In fact, I might even prefer it.

This blog contains pieces of my actual life. My disappointments, my exhaustion, my marriage, my struggles, and sometimes the things I would probably never say out loud to people around me. The thought of one of these posts suddenly going viral and being read by thousands of strangers is actually rather terrifying. So, perhaps fewer readers are not necessarily a bad thing.

I don't think I have ever wanted this blog to become famous. I just want it to remain a quiet little corner of the internet where I can leave pieces of my life behind as honestly as I can, and without having to pretend that everything is always fine.

And if only a handful of people ever read it, well... Maybe that's exactly how it should be.