ChiCuapCuap~

Pernah nggak sih, punya kebiasaan kecil sebelum tidur yang rasanya wajib banget dilakukan? Buat sebagian orang, itu mungkin baca buku, minum teh hangat, atau skincare-an berlapis-lapis. Buat aku? Bukan. Rutinitas malamku justru…

This year, I turned 30. No grand celebration, no fancy presents. But I had something far more precious: a simple moment with my little family.

We decided to mark the day with the simplest of celebrations, a one-night staycation at a hotel in Solo. It wasn’t about luxury, it wasn’t about ticking off a long list of activities. We literally just went there to sleep. Yet, that one night felt like a pause. A small break from the routines of life. Our kid was delighted just to roll around on the soft hotel bed, while my spouse and I enjoyed the quiet, the kind that allows you to breathe a little deeper.

There’s something about being in a new environment that clears the heart and mind. The endless cycle of daily routines can sometimes wear you down, leaving you tired and restless. Stepping out, even just for a short while, feels refreshing. That little change of scenery, that shift away from repetition, carries its own kind of joy.

And the very next day, we returned to our daily lives in the city where we work and live. Back to reality, back to responsibilities. But my heart was full. Because turning 30 doesn’t have to be about lights and parties. Sometimes, it’s about the little joys, the laughter we share, and the warmth of family that makes the day unforgettable.

Thirty years. It feels like it all went by so fast. I only pray that the years ahead will be filled with gratitude, meaning, and blessings that continue to grow.

Today I turned 29. Nothing felt special. No birthday cake, no surprises, not even a little “treatment” from my partner. At first, I felt a little sad. Why didn’t he do something special on my birthday? Isn’t a birthday supposed to be celebrated, even in the simplest way? But then I realized, maybe that’s just how he sees birthdays. To him, it’s just another ordinary day. No need for rituals, no need for anything extra. For a moment it felt empty, but slowly I began to understand something. Maybe a birthday is supposed to feel like just another ordinary day. Not a day to be celebrated with noise, glitter, and cheer, but a moment for quiet reflection. With every year added, I should become more mindful, more aware. After all, every year gained is also a year lost from the time I have left.

So instead of asking, “Why wasn’t my birthday celebrated?” maybe the real question is, “What have I done with the years I’ve already lived?” Have I grown into a better person? Have I added to the good deeds that will follow me into the Hereafter?

And then I remembered, I am now a mother. A new mother. Isn’t that, by itself, the most extraordinary gift of all? To be entrusted with a little soul, to nurture and guide, to love endlessly that is something no birthday cake or present could ever compare to.

Maybe the celebration doesn’t come in the form of candles on a cake or gifts wrapped neatly. Instead, it’s in the breath I still get to take today, in the little smile I see on my child’s face, and in the chance to become a different version of myself, a mother.

Reaching 29 years, surviving all the ups and downs, and now stepping into motherhood, perhaps that is the true celebration. Quiet, humbling, yet deeply meaningful.

Rumah di kampung itu mungkin tampak sederhana bagi orang lain. Ada yang menyebutnya tua, lapuk, bahkan tak layak huni. Tapi bagiku, rumah itu lebih dari sekadar dinding dan atap. Ia adalah tempat pertama aku mengenal arti kehidupan. Tempat di mana suara tawa dan tangis berpadu, tempat di mana segala hal dimulai.

Kini, ketika hidup terasa berat, pikiranku selalu kembali ke sana. Ada rindu yang aneh, bukan pada benda-benda yang ada di dalam rumah, melainkan pada rasa nyaman yang dulu pernah kurasakan. Rasa yang tidak bisa kubeli, tidak bisa kuganti, dan tidak bisa kucari di mana pun.

Rumah itu memang retak, kayunya rapuh, dan catnya mengelupas. Namun justru di sanalah kenangan-kenangan terbaik tersimpan. Setiap debu, setiap retakan, setiap suara pintu yang berderit, seakan memanggilku pulang. Ada kehangatan yang tak bisa digambarkan, meski hanya dengan duduk diam di ruang tamu yang kini lebih sepi dari dulu.

Kadang aku berpikir, mungkin benar adanya: ketika dunia terasa melelahkan, manusia hanya ingin kembali ke titik awal, tempat di mana semua terasa sederhana, jujur, dan apa adanya. Bagi sebagian orang, itu mungkin seseorang. Bagiku, itu adalah rumah tua di kampung.

Rumah itu mengingatkanku bahwa pulang bukan sekadar soal tempat, tapi soal rasa. Rasa diterima, rasa dimengerti, dan rasa tak dihakimi. Dunia luar boleh keras, penuh tuntutan, penuh ambisi, penuh perbandingan. Namun di rumah itu, aku hanya seorang anak yang bebas menjadi dirinya sendiri.

Mungkin rumah tua itu perlahan akan rapuh dimakan usia. Mungkin suatu hari ia tak lagi berdiri megah meski dalam kesederhanaannya. Tapi selama masih ada ingatan, selama masih ada rasa rindu, aku tahu rumah itu akan selalu hidup di dalam diriku.

Dan ketika hidup terasa terlalu berat, aku akan selalu tahu jawabannya: aku hanya ingin pulang.

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