Perhaps one of the rarest luxuries these days is having the time to write again.
Not writing briefings or communications products, of course. I mean the kind of writing that comes from within—the quiet, reflective kind that allows me to make sense of what’s been going on in my head.
I still get to read during my commute home from the office, but I miss sitting quietly in front of my laptop, with enough time and space to pour my thoughts onto a blank page. In fact, I’m writing this while commuting, on the night of my birthday—much like I did four years ago, on the same occasion, on this very blog.
I’ve always been grateful for my birthdays, but I stopped thinking of them as something particularly special after losing someone dear to me exactly ten years ago, on my birthday. I no longer expect birthday wishes, let alone a cake, although I still receive a few of both.
These days, my birthday feels more like a quiet checkpoint—a chance to look back at everything I’ve lived through and think about where I want to go from here.
Four years have passed since I last wrote on this blog, and so much has happened. So much, in fact, that my life today looks remarkably different from the one I was living then.
After graduating with my master’s degree in 2022—the subject of my last post here—I found myself stepping into a new job at an institution I had once dreamed of joining. To be honest, I never really imagined myself working at my current office. It always felt too good to be true. Yet somehow, an opportunity brought me here, and I eventually became part of it, meeting so many brilliant, kind, and wonderful colleagues along the way.
Since then, I’ve moved from one role to another: from positions where I had to learn almost everything from scratch, to ones where I was expected to bring more of my expertise to the table. Every transition came with its own lessons. None of them were particularly easy, but somehow, I’ve made it through almost three years.
Then, a few months later, another major chapter began: I got married.
To Ibnu—the man I first met on Sebesi Island in 2017, which, unsurprisingly, I also wrote about on this blog.
Marriage was something I had always hoped for and dreamed of, of course. And now, two years into our marriage, I realise I’ve spent almost a decade of my life with him.
I couldn’t be more grateful.
He understands me—my work, my ambitions, and the way I tend to throw myself into things. He has always supported me in growing towards the dreams I want to pursue. We are very different in so many ways, yet somehow, he completes me. Most of all, I love that he has become the person and the place I can always come home to.
And then came something I never expected: I got pregnant just two months after we got married.
As someone with endometriosis cysts, it wasn’t only my doctor who was amazed by how quickly it happened. Ibnu and I were, too. By that point, we had already made peace with the possibility that perhaps God simply wouldn’t give us that particular blessing.
Then, the following year, Kinala arrived.
And with her came a kind of experience I still struggle to put into words.
I was overwhelmed—by love, happiness, and fear all at once. She brought out parts of me I never knew existed: strength, tenderness, patience. She completely rearranged my days, and I’m still amazed by how this tiny human can somehow give me the energy to wake up at 4 a.m. to cook for her, go to the office, come home after dark, put her to sleep, and wake up to do it all over again.
Motherhood has also meant growing apart from some people and some of the things I used to do in my younger years, simply because my priorities are no longer the same. Not everyone understands that, and I understand that too.
But I genuinely love this new life.
Through Kinala, I’ve learned to appreciate the simplest things with a kind of gratitude I didn’t have before—good health, for instance.
My best friend, Bulan, said something in her birthday message to me today that stayed with me: “Turns out, life brings us to a kind of balance.”
I think she’s right.
Because even with all the blessings that have found their way into my life—many of which I haven’t mentioned here—I still feel a little lost at 30.
I often don’t know exactly what I’m doing, what I truly want, or which path I should take to get there. Even in areas where I once thought I was an expert, I still find myself questioning whether I really belong there.
There are also decisions I regret. I suppose that’s part of growing up, too: making peace with the choices you can no longer change and trying to take something from them.
So, does turning 30 mean finally having things figured out?
Apparently not.
Maybe life is simply an endless process of trial and error—trying, failing, learning, and trying again.
One thing I’m grateful for is that I no longer seek validation from other people the way I used to.
Especially after Kinala was born, the centre of my world shifted. Other people’s opinions of me, and even their opinions of the choices I make, suddenly seemed much less important.
I’m no longer afraid of losing friends. I’m no longer overly concerned with the impression I leave on people. These days, I simply try to be kind and do the best I can.
Letting go of that need for approval has made life feel considerably lighter.
My ambitions have softened, too, making room for things that feel more realistic, meaningful, and grounded.
Is that what growing up looks like?
I honestly don’t know.
What I do know is that God is good.
Through every high and low, He has somehow continued to give me the clarity to recognise what is good for me and what isn’t. Perhaps that is enough to hold on to for now—to trust that there is still so much more to discover, and to keep exploring what this life might have in store.
And, once again, I hope this isn’t too much to ask.
