ChiCuapCuap~

December felt strangely flat. Nothing truly stood out, nothing felt memorable in a significant way. On the surface, it looked more relaxed compared to November. But when I looked back more honestly, I realized that the beginning of December was actually very heavy. The dominant feeling that stayed with me throughout the month was being overwhelmed, quietly, constantly.

Work became one of the main sources of exhaustion. I experienced burnout, not only because of the workload that piled up toward the end of the year, but also because of something that seemed small yet deeply affected my mood: my laptop. Every morning began with frustration. The laptop kept malfunctioning, and even after being “fixed,” it never truly worked properly. Starting the day already annoyed made everything feel heavier. Burnout came from those two things combined, the technical struggle and the accumulation of tasks. Fortunately, in the middle of the month, the office lent me a new laptop. Since then, the burnout slowly faded, and work became more manageable again.

There was no year-end target chasing, no resolutions to fulfill. I stopped setting yearly goals a long time ago. Living life itself already feels exhausting enough, adding annual resolutions only makes it worse. I personally prefer setting monthly goals, based on current needs and circumstances. December also felt lighter because of the many holidays: Christmas, New Year, and the remaining leave days I used. At least, I had some time to rest.

Financially, I feel tired of hoping things will get better ever since my husband was laid off [Stepping Into a Role I Never Asked For]. My mindset has shifted into survival mode: just live today. If there is money, Alhamdulillah. If there isn’t, then it is what it is, as long as my child can eat. Even so, I realized that I spent quite a lot this month, mostly on snacks and eating out. I tried to hold back, but I still kept craving food, this and that.

The worries never really stopped. I often find myself wondering, why does my life feel like this, over and over again? People say life goes in cycles, sometimes up, sometimes down. But why does it feel like mine is always down? Maybe my life’s wheel is oval, not round, hehe. I reflect a lot on why our life turned out this way, and if I’m asked what needs to be fixed, the answer is painful: there are so many things. Too many.

Mentally, there was a moment when I felt completely exhausted. My two-year-old was being fussy, wanting many things but unable to express them clearly. In that moment, I consciously pushed him until he fell. I felt immediate regret. But at the same time, I was so tired and just wanted to be understood. And yet, I know my child also wants to be understood. That realization hurt.

Regarding my relationship, my self-reflection led me to think that perhaps my life feels this way because I complain too much about my husband. I count his flaws, resent his shortcomings, and compare him to other men. But at the same time, I question myself: how am I supposed not to feel this way if he behaves the way he does? Gratitude feels very difficult when it comes to his attitude and character. Eventually, I became quieter. More resigned. Like… ah, whatever.

This month taught me something uncomfortable about myself: why do I keep thinking about other people’s feelings when they don’t even think about mine? Yet when I express my thoughts, I’m told that I’m the one who lacks empathy. My point of view and others’ perspectives are different, and I am tired of trying to understand this world.

If there is one small thing I can say I’m proud of, it’s this: even though my husband has no income, he doesn’t stop me from spending money on food. Or maybe he’s just tired of stopping me, so he lets it be. Either way, I’m grateful for that small freedom.

December ended not with clarity, not with hope, but with quiet exhaustion. Still standing. Still moving. Even if it feels flat, even if it feels heavy, I made it to the end of the month—and maybe that is enough for now.

November came with a heavier rhythm, even though I had started taking more leave to use up my annual days off. I thought stepping away from work once in a while would ease the load, but the truth is life outside the office didn’t slow down either. It felt like trying to steal a breath in between waves, only to find another one already on its way.

Work grew thicker, busier, almost like everything decided to arrive at once. Sometimes I wondered whether it was simply the workload… or if I was quietly burning out without realizing it.

Financially, things remained tight. Nothing new, but still exhausting. I couldn’t freely use the salary I brought home. There were too many things lined up: school fees, our helper’s salary, utilities, kitchen essentials, and the constant, invisible expenses that simply come with living. I tried my best not to burden my husband, not to add weight to his shoulders. He still didn’t have a stable job, relying on uncertain freelance projects. Yet somehow, he always managed to fill the gaps. Part of me was grateful, another part worried he might be leaning on the credit card more than he admitted. That fear alone kept me cautious so I wouldn’t add to his burden, financially or mentally.

I often thought about letting our helper go, just to ease the monthly expenses. But then reality answered quickly: Who would take care of the chaos left by a toddler? Who would iron, sweep, mop, and handle the mountain of daily chores when I already spent my days working and managing everything in the kitchen? I knew I couldn’t do all of it. And expecting my husband to share the load wasn’t an option, he simply wouldn’t. Having a helper is one of the few things that keeps me from losing my sanity.

Sometimes, I wondered if I should take a part-time job. But where I live, part-time work, especially at night isn’t common. And honestly, I wasn’t sure where I’d even find the energy. I saw people out there juggling multiple roles effortlessly, as if they were immune to exhaustion. Meanwhile, even small fatigue could knock me down. The world felt unforgiving. And in darker moments, I found myself wondering, if life is this hard, will the afterlife be harsher still?

Emotionally, November felt like walking with too much to carry. Overwhelmed, that might be the closest word. Nothing ever felt quite enough. I kept searching for answers about why my child’s weight wasn’t improving, bouncing between worry, frustration, and guilt. Maybe that was what drained me most, feeling like I wasn’t doing enough, even when I was doing everything I could.

And yet, in a strange way, I’m grateful. The days felt slow while living them, but now that I look back, they passed quickly. Maybe that’s November’s quiet lesson: It’s okay to move slowly, as long as you don’t stop.

This October began with a lighter feeling than the previous month. Maybe last month’s chaos forced me to grow sturdier, so even a small bit of peace felt like sunlight breaking through.

But that calm didn’t stay for long. In the middle of the month, I was hit with chickenpox. I was worried about scars. People say that getting it as an adult leaves marks that don’t fade easily. Thankfully, the marks on my skin were few. But the pain beneath the surface was another story. In those first days, my body felt like it had turned into fragile glass, every movement ached, even staying still felt like pressure from within. My appetite vanished completely. Even my favorite foods failed to stir anything in me. They just went to waste. I survived mostly on water and tiny bites of snacks, just enough to keep myself going.

And then, as one wave settled, another rose. My husband fell sick too and not just physically. His spirit dimmed. It was the first time he let me see the weight he’d been carrying. I realized we were both walking through the same fog, each of us quietly trying not to trouble the other. We were both tired, both overwhelmed, both had moments of wanting to give up. There were moments when both of us felt close to the edge. Yet in the middle of all that heaviness, our child remained the small, steady lighthouse guiding us forward. A reminder of why we keep standing, even when life feels like it keeps trying to knock us down.

Ironically, this month was supposed to be a joyful one, our child’s birth month. A time for gratitude, celebration, warmth. Instead, it felt muted and grey. But hidden within that gloom, something important happened: we began to understand each other more honestly. There was a quiet sense of relief in knowing that it wasn’t only me who felt pressured or hopeless, that both of us were carrying our own pain, silently. It's a blessed neither of us was walking alone. We were two tired travelers resting under the same sky, sharing the same quiet fears.

October taught me that expectations shouldn’t become invisible ropes around someone else’s shoulders. That supporting each other means recognizing when the other is close to breaking. That sometimes strength isn’t about pushing forward, but about admitting we’re worn down.

For November, my hope is simple: that my husband finds job that can help steady our steps again. I’m wishing for a month where the light returns slowly but surely, even if only in small rays. As long as we continue moving forward together, that’s enough.

Tuhan, jiwa ini terasa semakin rapuh, tak tahu harus bagaimana, kemana, dan apa. Aku merasa... menjadi dewasa itu begitu melelahkan. Terlalu banyak tanggung jawab, tuntutan, dan harapan yang datang bertubi-tubi, seolah tanpa jeda. Semua orang seolah menunggu aku kuat, tegar, dan selalu siap. Tapi di dalam hati, aku merasa kosong, hampa, tak berarti. Aku ingin pulang.

Akhir-akhir ini aku sering merasa sangat lelah, bukan hanya kelelahan fisik, tapi lelah yang rasanya sampai ke jiwa. Aku tidur terlalu banyak, tapi tetap bangun dengan perasaan lelah. Nafsu makan menurun. Bahkan aku tak lagi merasa lapar, aku makan hanya merasa karena aku harus makan. Hal-hal yang dulu bisa bikin aku tersenyum, sekarang rasanya hambar. Aku ingin pulang.

Kadang aku hanya duduk diam, termenung, tapi pikiranku berisik sekali. Seberisik itu hingga terkadang aku ingin berteriak, aku lelah ingin berhenti sejenak. Namun kemudian, aku merasa bersalah karena merasa lelah, karena tidak sekuat yang orang harapkan, karena ingin berhenti sejenak padahal tahu tidak bisa. Aku ingin pulang. 

Di rumah dan dalam hubungan, bebanku terasa paling berat. Aku mencoba menjadi istri yang baik, ibu yang hadir, dan penopang ekonomi keluarga. Tapi siapa yang menopangku? Siapa yang memelukku saat aku lelah? Aku selalu memasang wajah berseri bahagia didepan anakku, membohonginya dengan topeng palsuku. Aku lelah dengan semua ini. Aku sadar... aku sudah terlalu lama menahan semuanya sendirian. Oleh karena itu, aku ingin pulang.

Ada hari-hari di mana aku merasa mati rasa. Bangun pagi bukan karena semangat, tapi karena harus. Aku menjalani hari seperti otomatis, mengurus, bekerja, bertanggung jawab. Tapi di antara semua itu, aku kehilangan sesuatu: aku sendiri. Siapa aku? Untuk apa aku hidup? Ah, aku ingin pulang.

Tidak punya tempat bercerita membuat semuanya terasa semakin berat. Kadang aku ingin ada seseorang yang cuma duduk di sebelah dan bilang, “nggak apa-apa kalau kamu lelah.” Tapi yang ada justru tuntutan baru, harapan baru, beban baru. Apakah normal, menginginkan pasangan yang lebih kuat daripada aku? Ah, tentunya pasanganku juga menginginkan hal serupa dariku bukan? Aku ingin pulang saja.

Tuhan, aku ingin pulang. Tapi saat ini, aku sudah dirumah. Lalu pulang seperti apa yang jiwa ini inginkan?

The month began with colors. The warmth of home, the taste of my mother’s cooking, and the joy of being wrapped in the comfort of familiarity. My heart was filled, as if a long drought finally met the rain. Yet, just like water slipping through the cracks of dry soil, that fullness didn’t last. The joy evaporated too soon, leaving me wondering: What escaped me this time?

September was a carousel of clinic visits, circling round and round until I lost count. Perhaps it was the stubborn weather, or perhaps my body was simply tired. When my child fell ill, my nights lost their stars, my meals their flavor. And as dawns blurred into dusks, I too was pulled into that cycle of sickness. My husband, frail as he is, was not spared either.

They say every wound has its cure. But what medicine is there for the cracks inside the heart? The psychologist assures me there are ways to heal, yet I hesitate at the door. My feet pause at the threshold, not stepping in, perhaps fearing that behind the kind smile lies judgment. My emotional vessel, once brimming after I returned from home, now feels as if it has a leak I cannot find. It empties faster than I can fill it.

This September felt unremarkable, as if the calendar flipped without leaving footprints. Long days stretched wide, yet when I looked back, my hands were empty. What worth is there in time if it passes without fruit?

Maybe the fevers and coughs were only shadows cast by something deeper. I have been quick to flare, easy to break, fragile as thin glass. And in one moment of weakness, I did what I thought I never could, I let my frustration spill onto the little soul who clings to me most. Like a bird caged, I resented his nearness. And then I remembered: I am the cage, and I am the shelter. He knows no other place to land but me.

They say, “Better to walk alone than in the wrong company.” But what if you walk side by side, yet your soul still feels adrift? Perhaps that is what this month has been teaching me, that sometimes, even when hands are held, the journey feels solitary.

Ketika ada kesempatan untuk melakukan decluttering di rumah oang tua di kampung halaman sana, rasanya senang sekali. Target kali ini adalah satu box berisi pakaian zaman SMP–SMA. Kenapa baju-baju itu disimpan rapi di dalam box selama bertahun-tahun? Jawabannya sederhana, karena pada masa itu, saya sangat kurus. Kemudian, memasuki masa perkuliahan, perlahan tubuh saya berubah membesar, gemuk maksudnya. Pakaian itu pun disimpan dengan satu harapan klasik: nanti juga bisa dipakai lagi kalau sudah kurus. Nyatanya, kurusnya baru datang setelah melahirkan. Setelah hampir satu dekade lamanya. Haha.

Dan baru sekarang, box itu akhirnya saya bongkar. Rasanya seperti membuka kapsul waktu. Satu per satu pakaian membawa kembali memori masa remaja, tentang gaya berpakaian, fase hidup, kenangan saat memakainya dan versi diri saya di masa lalu. Sebuah box dengan segudang cerita. Tanpa sadar, ada rasa gemetar dihati saya. Bagaimana tidak, jumlah pakaian yang tidak sedikit dengan rata-rata harga yang tidak murah pada masanya. Betapa kedua orang tua memanjakanku, ditengah ekonomi kami yang terbilang hanya berkecukupan.

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Bagi saya, decluttering bukan sekadar “menghilangkan” barang. Lebih dari itu, ini soal mengefisienkan dan menyadari apa yang benar-benar kita miliki. Karena sering kali, kita tidak sadar punya suatu barang, bukan karena tidak ada, tapi karena terlalu banyak.

Sejujurnya, kategori yang paling sering saya declutter adalah pakaian. Dan bulan ini terasa pas untuk melakukannya, karena momennya bertepatan dengan pulang kampung. Saya membuka kembali box pakaian itu dan menemukan banyak pakaian yang sudah tak muat, atau masih muat tapi sudah kehilangan spark joy-nya.

Dulu, saya punya prinsip: simpan aja dulu, siapa tahu nanti kepake. Sampai akhirnya, barang-barang itu:

• tidak kepakai karena lupa,
• tidak kepakai karena sudah tidak suka,
• tidak kepakai karena sudah tidak fit dibadan, 
• atau tidak kepakai karena meski muat, sudah tidak lagi “pas”  di hati.

Kemudian saya berpikir, bagaimana jika barang yang saya simpan itu belum sempat saya gunakan namun saya telah mati? Barang tersebut masih menjadi milik saya, namun tidak bisa saya gunakan. Saya menanggung sesuatu yang bahkan belum sempat saya gunakan. Sudah boros, mubazir pula. 

Yang paling menguatkan tekad saya justru datang dari satu kesadaran lain: segala sesuatu akan dihisab. Saya takut memiliki terlalu banyak barang yang tidak digunakan. Nanti pertanggungjawabannya bagaimana? Pemikiran ini pernah saya tulis juga di sini: Harta yang Kita Simpan Tak Akan Diam di Hari Hisab

Sejak merasa “tercerahkan”, prinsip lama yang kolot itu pelan-pelan saya ubah. Apalagi setelah membaca bukunya Marie Kondo, semakin mantap untuk hanya menyimpan hal-hal yang benar-benar bermakna.

Lalu, apa yang saya lakukan setelah proses decluttering selesai?

Pertama, tentu saja pakaian yang masih fit dan masih memberi spark joy saya pakai kembali.

Kedua, pakaian yang masih bagus namun sudah tidak saya pakai, akan saya tawarkan kepada orang lain yang mungkin membutuhkan. Saya jelaskan dengan jujur kondisinya dan ceritanya. Silakan dipilih mana yang ingin dipakai, yang tidak berkenan pun tidak masalah. Prosesnya sederhana: mohon dipilih dengan penuh kesadaran.

Ketiga, pakaian yang tidak terpilih pada proses kedua namun masih layak pakai saya sumbangkan ke badan amal atau organisasi yang memang mengelola pakaian bekas dengan baik.

Bagaimana dengan pakaian yang sudah tidak layak pakai? Tetap dimanfaatkan semaksimal mungkin, bisa dijadikan serbet, lap, atau kain pel. Intinya satu, memaksimalkan masa penggunaan barang, agar tidak menambah tumpukan sampah yang sebenarnya bisa dicegah.

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Dari satu box pakaian lama, saya belajar lagi tentang melepas, tentang rasa cukup, dan tentang tanggung jawab atas apa yang saya miliki. 

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Terima kasih bapak dan ibuk, sudah memenuhi kebutuhan sandang anak perempuanmu pada masa belianya, masa dimana egonya sedang tinggi dan tak mau mengalah.

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.

ASI perah (ASIP) bisa disimpan aman jika ditangani dan disimpan pada suhu yang tepat. Waktu penyimpanan bergantung pada tempat (suhu ruangan, lemari es, atau freezer). Setelah dicairkan, ASIP tidak boleh dibekukan lagi. Hindari microwave untuk mencairkan/menghangatkan ASIP. (Sumber: CDC, AAP, Mayo Clinic, La Leche League, ABM). (Referensi: CDC+2American Academy of Pediatrics+2)

Waktu penyimpanan ASI perah (panduan umum)

• Suhu ruangan (≤ ~26–27°C / 78°F atau lebih rendah): 6–8 jam dalam kondisi bersih; idealnya digunakan dalam 4 jam bila suhu hangat. (Beberapa protokol memberi fleksibilitas hingga 6–8 jam dalam kondisi sangat bersih dan suhu lebih rendah). (Referensi: lllc.ca+1)

• Lemari pendingin (kulkas) pada 4°C (≤ 40°F): 3–5 hari (CDC/AAP menyarankan hingga 4 hari, banyak sumber resmi menyebut 3–5 hari tergantung protokol rumah sakit/praktik lokal). (Referensi: CDC+1)

• Freezer (kompartemen dengan pintu terpisah pada 0°F / −18°C): sekitar 3–6 bulan ideal; sampai 6–12 bulan masih dapat diterima bagi penyimpanan jangka panjang (gunakan dalam 6 bulan bila memungkinkan untuk kualitas terbaik). (Referensi: AAP Publications+1)

• Freezer satu pintu (kompartemen kecil di kulkas): penyimpanan lebih singkat, ikuti petunjuk pabrik kulkas; umumnya beberapa minggu hingga 2 minggu untuk kualitas terbaik menurut praktik umum. (Referensi: CDC+1)

Menghangatkan dan mencairkan ASI beku

• Cara aman mencairkan: letakkan kantong/botol beku di lemari pendingin semalaman (paling aman), atau rendam wadah tertutup dalam air hangat. Kalau dibiarkan di udara terbuka pada suhu hangat, ASIP bisa dicairkan tapi waktunya lebih singkat. (Referensi: Mayo Clinic+1)

• Setelah dicairkan di lemari pendingin: ASIP yang sudah dicairkan dapat bertahan hingga 24 jam di lemari pendingin, tetapi sebaiknya digunakan dalam waktu 4 jam setelah dikeluarkan untuk menyusu (aturan ini membantu menghindari kontaminasi dari mulut bayi). (Referensi: American Academy of Pediatrics+1)

• Jangan dibekukan lagi. ASIP yang sudah pernah dibekukan lalu dicairkan tidak boleh dibekukan kembali. (Referensi: CDC)

• Jangan gunakan microwave untuk mencairkan atau menghangatkan ASIP (microwave dapat menyebabkan titik panas yang merusak nutrisi dan berisiko membakar mulut bayi). Gunakan air hangat atau lemari es. (Referensi: Mayo Clinic)

Saat pemberian dan setelah pemberian

• Kocok lembut botol/wadah sebelum diberikan untuk mencampur lapisan lemak yang mengapung, jangan kocok keras karena dapat merusak beberapa kandungan bioaktif. (Referensi: CDC)

• Sisa ASIP yang sudah disentuh mulut bayi: idealnya habiskan saat itu juga; sisa yang sudah diminum sebagian sebaiknya dibuang (karena saliva bayi bisa memperkenalkan bakteri). Beberapa sumber menyebut digunakan kembali dalam 1–2 jam tergantung kondisi; praktik konservatif menyarankan pembuangan. (Referensi: La Leche League USA+1)

Cara memeriksa apakah ASIP masih baik (indikator sederhana)

• Bau dan rasa: ASIP yang masih bagus terasa agak manis dan berbau seperti susu. Jika berbau asam, tengik, atau rasa asam terasa, artinya ASIP sudah basi dan sebaiknya dibuang. (Gunakan indera pencium & pengecapan hati-hati — jangan mengunggah ke standar ilmiah penuh tapi ini praktik rumah tangga umum). (Referensi: lllc.ca)

Do’s & Don’ts singkat

Do

• Labeli setiap wadah ASIP dengan tanggal pengepakan. Gunakan yang paling tua terlebih dahulu. 

• Bekukan dalam porsi kecil sekali minum untuk menghindari pemborosan. 

• Sebelum diberikan kepada bayi, cicipi dulu rasanya.

Don’t

• Jangan gunakan microwave. (Referensi: Mayo Clinic)

• Jangan menambahkan ASIP panas langsung ke ASIP dingin beku (biarkan mencair perlahan). (Referensi: lllc.ca)

There are things in life that arrive without warning. Sometimes they bring joy, other times, they knock the breath out of you. In early 2024 just before Ramadan, a month usually awaited for its calm and clarity. I received news that made my knees feel weak.

My husband told me he had been quietly laid off.

And at that moment, we had just welcomed a newborn into our little world.

In the midst of the bliss of becoming new parents, in the middle of feeling our tiny family finally complete, our main source of income vanished. It felt as though we had just learned to stand, only for the ground beneath us to shift without mercy.

At that time, the industry was swept by the so-called Tech Winter, a wave that hit the technology world hard. Startups and tech companies were cutting costs, freezing hiring, and conducting mass layoffs. Investor funding slowed, digital growth stagnated, and many companies were forced to downsize. It wasn’t just happening abroad, Indonesia felt the tremors too.

My husband became one of its casualties.

And that’s when reality struck: we still had to live, still had to pay for daily needs, still had to give the best we could for our baby, even though our main income had suddenly disappeared. I wasn’t given much time to cry or panic. After my husband lost his job, I slowly realized that I had to step into a new role, one I had never truly imagined for myself. I had to become the backbone of the family.

The role didn’t come with ceremony or congratulations. It came with a weight on my chest that grew heavier, little by little.

Being a new mother already drained so much, sleepless nights, changing hormones, learning to understand a tiny human. And then came the sudden financial pressure. It felt like carrying a burden far too heavy for shoulders still learning how to be strong.

We both learned that a household isn’t only about sharing joy, it’s also about sharing the weight, even when the load isn’t always evenly placed.

Becoming the family’s backbone was never a title I sought. But when life pushed it into my hands, I learned to wear it slowly. Each day, a little more familiar. Each day, a little stronger.

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.

Recently I have had a concern regarding friendships on social media, one of them is Facebook. I have thousands of friends, but yet don't know half of them. What the hell was I doing in the past? Why did I have so many strangers? Long story short, I decided to unfriend people ...