Claiming the Morning, Reclaiming Myself

I’ve learned that when I don’t claim my morning to write, the day slips through my fingers like fine sand. It passes in a blink, like a fast-forwarded scene, and I’m left empty-handed. I can feel it in my chest, this vague discomfort of a day lived but not captured, like I lost a conversation I was supposed to have with myself.

Just like that, I missed three days. Three days without jotting down my thoughts. And it wasn’t for lack of something to say; it never is. Life is always speaking to me, through small moments, through feelings I can’t name just yet. Three of my last posts were backdated. Patches stitched on an old journal entry, written only after I could finally sit, breathe, and let my words catch up to me.

Take yesterday, for example. I got pulled into the current of routines. It started with cooking, then running to the lab, grocery shopping. I told myself I'd rest while tidying up. That led to Netflix on the side. Then a bath. Then reading. And just like that, lights off. No words written. No inner check-in. Another day done.

So today, I’m doing it differently. I’m writing before the world demands anything from me. I’m claiming the morning as mine again. Before Whatsapp, before emails, before even checking what’s urgent. Because this right here, this writing, this talking to myself (and to you), this is what grounds me. This is what reminds me that my thoughts matter, not just my tasks.

When I make space for myself first thing in the morning, everything else feels lighter. Less performative. More rooted. It’s like placing my soul back in my body before I try to carry anything else.

And here’s what I want to remind you (and myself, again and again): prioritize yourself. Not in a selfish way, but in a soul-sustaining way. Your thoughts deserve airtime. Your inner world needs your presence. If writing isn’t your thing, maybe it’s a walk. Or music. Or prayer. But make space for it.

Don’t wait for time to appear, coz it won’t.
We make it.
We claim it.

Going Home with a 270 Million Bill and a Prayer

Thursday, August 21, 2025 This is it! The day I finally got discharged after 10 nights in the hospital. After surviving ESWL for kidney stones + laparoscopy for appendix + mini laparotomy for myom and uterus removal. In the morning, Dr. Eko came by with the golden ticket: “You can go home today.” And previously, Dr. Ong team also said the same. Finally! I’d been waiting for that sentence like a kid waiting for recess. Of course, it’s never as simple as “the doctor said I can go home.” Nope. There’s a whole backstage performance involving the nurses, admin, pharmacy, and let’s not forget the insurance company. Meanwhile, my husband was busy running back and forth between the hospital room and the car, carrying bags, while I reminded him, “Don’t forget to buy bread for the nurses and staff.” Doctor on duty replaced the dressing on my laparoscopy wounds, but left the laparotomy one alone. Too wet, too risky. I didn’t even argue, I’m just glad someone else was brave enough to de...

Borrowed Blood, Borrowed Strength

Tuesday, August 19, 2025 I honestly thought I’d be packing my bags and finally going home from the hospital today. I could already imagine stepping back into my own bed, the good smell of tuberose, and maybe even sneaking in a celebratory bowl of bakso. But nope, the universe had other plans. The morning blood test results showed my hemoglobin had dipped to 8.7 while my leukocytes had shot up to 13.86. No wonder I’d been wobbling around like a dizzy penguin. I wasn’t just tired, I was in the “moderate-to-severe anemia” category. My doctor looked at me with that calm, professional face and said, “We’re going to need to transfuse you with blood.” It felt surreal. Blood transfusion? Me? That always sounded like something that happened to other people in dramatic hospital TV shows. But that day, it was my turn. After the insurance people gave their magical stamp of approval, I was set up with not one, but two bags of donor blood. 500cc in total. Here’s what nobody tells you: it doesn’...

Cold and Bold

Saturday, 16 August 2025, past midnight “Bu, bu, operasinya sudah selesai ya Bu.” “Dingin… dingin…” Those were the first words that came out of my mouth when I woke up from surgery. Not exactly poetic, but hey, when you’ve just survived laparoscopy and hysterectomy-laparotomy in one go, you don’t wake up quoting Shakespeare. You wake up asking for blankets. I remember shivering, my teeth chattering, my body completely confused about what just happened. The nurses rushed to wrap me in layers, and I drifted in and out of consciousness, half-aware that my life had just been handed back to me, stitched and stapled and sewn together. And honestly, that’s the thing about life, isn’t it? We often imagine survival arriving in big, cinematic ways. Dramatic music, bright lights, maybe even a slow clap. In reality, sometimes it shows up with a shaky whisper: “dingin… dingin…” The doctors told my husband it was quite long, delicate surgery. My appendix alone took nearly an hour, and removing my my...

I'm Alive!

Yes, after 10 days in hospital and surviving three major operations, thank God I’m still alive, guys! I know, I know, I’ve been absent for a week from this blog. Not because I don’t want to write, but because life gave me a little detour called “hospital survival mode.” And let me tell you, survival mode is no joke. Imagine trying to juggle post-op pain, a stubborn IV line, doctors coming in at odd hours, and me negotiating with nurses for one more round of painkillers like I was bargaining in a flea market. Add in Netflix running in the background, half-watched movies I don’t remember, and me dozing off mid-dialogue. That was my week. See? Even my fingers had a medical leave. Who knew something as small as an IV placement could make me feel like a baby bird learning to type? But apparently, while I was away, statistics showed hundreds of people were still peeking at this blog every day, as if to check if I’d left a heartbeat here. That thought touches me deeply. So now that my ha...

Stone-Free, Heart-Full

Last night I slept like a baby at the hospital. Woke up feeling fresh, and no toilet struggles this morning. First win of the day! Around 7 a.m., I emerged from the bathroom to find my mom and my in-laws already there. They’d left their house at 5:30 a.m., picked up my mom on the way, and arrived bright and early. Today’s main event was ESWL treatment to blast my kidney stones into dust. It was supposed to happen at 8 a.m., then moved to 9 a.m., and finally got pushed to 11 a.m. because my doctor had another procedure. Which meant the parents had been there for hours, and I got to nap on and off like a cat waiting for dinner. But maybe that delay was divine scheduling. Just minutes before the nurse came to take me in, my pastor arrived to pray for me in person. He drove 40–50 kilometers to be there. That’s not just kind, it’s humbling. Thank you, Pak Pendeta. And earlier, another “pastor” (in quotes because she’s actually my friend Detha) prayed for me over the phone. Add in the ...

Small Joys in the Recovery Lane

Recovery days are funny. They’re quieter, slower, yet filled with little stories that feel like puzzle pieces. Each one reminding me that healing isn’t just about medicine, but about the rhythm of everyday life. This morning started with food, because of course it did. My mom has been on a mission to keep me well-fed. And by “well-fed” I mean plates of home-cooked meals that would make even Michelin-star chefs nod in approval. Sometimes I wonder if she’s secretly competing with the hospital catering team, except she’s already won, hands down. Honestly, food made by someone who loves you is the best medicine. Somewhere between brunch, my friend in Canada replied my WhatsApp status. I proudly sent him this photo of the sunrise from my bedroom: misty, soft, a little mystical. His reply came with a chuckle: “Widih burem. Polusi ya? Lol.” And then, he sent me his backyard view: wide skies, rolling hills, golden sunlight. I had to laugh, but also… I’ll admit it, I envied him a little. His b...

Sore Sore Nonton Sore Lagi

Today was another gentle step forward: I went out again, nothing fancy, just simple errands and a bit of fresh air. Funny how even the most ordinary routines can feel refreshing when you’re in the middle of recovery. After lunch, my husband and mom came with me to Indosat. The mission is to downgrade my internet package. See, I still keep my very first number from 25 years ago, the one I got when I bought my very first cellphone. Back then, topping up credit felt like a luxury, and texting “where are you” took serious typing effort. Somehow, through all the changes (different phones, different life stages) I never let that number go. By now it feels less like a SIM card and more like a piece of my personal history. These days, I hardly use it for data. Telkomsel has taken over as my daily driver. But still, I can’t bring myself to let go of that first number. Nostalgia is a stubborn thing, isn’t it? Some people keep old concert tickets; I keep an old phone number. My husband drove, my ...

Pain Has a Purpose

Sunday, August 17th, 2025 This morning, I got bathed like a baby by the nurse. Yes, full-on sponge bath vibes, except with something way fancier than baby wipes. Apparently, there’s this magical thing called disposable antibacterial wash gloves. Soft, antiseptic, alcohol-free, basically a life hack wrapped in a wet bag. Where has this been all my life? I immediately checked out a pack on Shopee . You know, just in case I ever travel or, let’s be honest, feel too lazy to shower at home 😜 By midday, my freedom arrived. The catheter was removed, and I was finally allowed to try walking to the bathroom again. Liberation! Except, tiny detail, I felt like a bloated pufferfish. My stomach was tight, full of trapped air, and the doctor reminded me: “Mobilize. Move around. You’ll feel better once gas passes.” He also gave me pills to help me deal with it. So there I was, standing next to the hospital bed, summoning every ounce of strength. I thought, Yes, this is it, the grand rele...

The Waiting Room of Life

There are few things in life that test our character more than waiting. Not the kind of waiting where you’re stuck in traffic with your favorite playlist on, but the heavy kind; waiting without certainty. The waiting that weighs on you because you don’t know if it will end tomorrow, next month, or next year. I’ve been thinking a lot about this today because something big just wrapped up. A long-awaited promise was finally fulfilled. And in the process, I witnessed firsthand how differently people behave when placed in the uncomfortable chair of “ the waiting room of life. ” Imagine a waiting room where everyone has been told their name will be called someday, maybe soon, maybe late. You’d see at least two kinds of people. Some people sit quietly, open a book, maybe start a new project on the side while glancing occasionally at the clock. They don’t need to narrate their suffering to the entire room. They choose dignity over drama. They know that patience doesn’t have to be ...

What I Learned from Timothy Tiah - Founder of Nuffnang

Last Sunday when I entered VIP room at JWEF , I was introduced to this guy with his mini version boy on his lap, and his pretty wife with white top and red skirt. We had chit chat and he told me he’d be in Jakarta this Tuesday, and I told him that we’d have 57th #Startuplokal Monthly Meetup on Tuesday night. To be really honest, only a very few did I know about him until he shared his amazing story on JWEF stage a few minutes later, and get inspired that I took note and now share this with you all. Timothy Tiah founded Nuffnang with Cheo Ming Shen at 2006 when he was 22 years old, with 150k RM startup capital, partly borrowed from his father. He simply founded it because there’s nobody built it before, while the demand was actually there. The site was launched in February 2007. Sales ≠ cashflow On earlier years, although Nuffnang sales highrocketed, the cashflow was poor. At one point he only has 5k left in bank, while there were invoices need to be paid out urgently. He came to Hon...

Diary of a CEO's Wife

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