While bus stops were set on fire and fear spread across the city, I sat in a hospital waiting room, holding onto the thought that healing is still possible: inside me, and hopefully, around us.
At 4:00 pm, I left the apartment for a doctor’s check-up. By 4:30, I was already at the hospital, going through the usual questions about medical history. At 5:00, I bumped into Mas Yusuf who, as usual, very helpful and proactive, making sure everything is well taken care of. By 5:30, I was still waiting… long enough to fall asleep sitting down. Hospitals do that to you, they stretch time in mysterious ways.
Finally, at 6:30, I met Dr. Ong. And honestly? He’s one of those rare doctors who not only gives answers but also explains the why behind them. I love that. It feels like a mini-lecture, where you walk out healthier and smarter.
He did an ultrasound, everything looked good. The bandages came off too. The incision looked dry and neat. Still, I asked about the throbbing pain that comes and goes. He said, very casually, “That’s normal. Two weeks after surgery, your insides are still busy reconnecting nerves.” Apparently, by week three, I’ll feel freer because the healing inside will be much stronger.
Oh, and my favorite part: my bloated stomach issue? The solution was not complicated medicine or scary diets. Just yogurt or Yakult. Simple, refreshing, probiotic wisdom.
Then he explained why he didn’t remove my ovaries during surgery: keeping them lowers risks of heart problems and osteoporosis later. And since I don’t need forced menopause, my body gets to enter it naturally. That felt like a gift, my body still has its rhythm, even after surgery.
At 7:00 pm, we were done. My husband handled payment and meds (what would I do without him?). I walked out feeling not just “checked up” but also reassured. If you ever meet a doctor who answers generously and with patience, you know how precious that is.
But my night wasn’t done. I still had to see Dr. Eko, who’s the complete opposite of Dr. Ong. Efficient, concise, no chit-chat. I complained about feeling overly full after few meals, and he prescribed Nexium for acid reflux and Vomitas for nausea. His advice: no coffee, no spicy food, no sour food for now. The “no coffee” part hurt the most. Imagine being told to break up with your noon romance, even if only temporarily. Ouch.
By the time we left, my stomach was growling louder than my thoughts. So, at the Seadood Center food court, we gave in to temptation. A glorious seafood platter landed on our table: green mussels, white clams, shrimp, squid... all bathed in a sauce that deserves a standing ovation. Don't worry, it's not sour nor spicy at all. Healing may be slow, but good food is instant joy.
While waiting, we bought brownies from SMK students practicing entrepreneurship. He was about the same age as my daughter. The packaging was neat, the confidence refreshing, and the brownies is surprisingly delicious. We applauded his effort by buying two packs. My daughter even complimented their presentation. I couldn’t resist giving him extra encouragement. It felt good, cheering him on in his baby steps toward the real world.
And yet, while the evening looked “normal” on the surface, the city outside wasn’t calm at all. Today several TransJakarta bus stops were burned. Crowds moved sporadically, some already starting to vandalize. The news brought a sinking feeling: please, don’t let history repeat itself. My heart immediately flashed back to stories of 1998, the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty. I thought of the children (mine and everyone else’s) confused and afraid, wondering why adults can’t keep the world safe for them. Healing a city, I realized, feels just as fragile as healing a body. Both take patience, wisdom, and compassion... or everything risks tearing open again.
By the time we reached home, it was already past 10:00 pm. I was ready to collapse into bed, but my husband and daughter still had enough energy to unbox our brand-new mop robot. The old one had given up on life (its battery soaked and refusing to charge) so this shiny new recruit was meant to take over household floor duties. Of course, the unboxing had to be recorded on video. You never know when something comes broken, and a video is the best insurance policy for dealing with sellers.
The surprise? This robot mop came with a free gift: an air fryer. And just like that, my mom got an instant upgrade in her kitchen. Perfect timing, since she didn’t have one yet. Funny how life works: I’d just given my sister an air fryer for her birthday yesterday, and today my mom gets one too, free of charge. The universe has a quirky sense of humor when it comes to gift-giving.
And maybe we can stretch that wisdom, that healing also comes when a society listens: to its people, to its wounds, to its longing for peace.
Whatever your personal process is, whether it's surgery recovery, heartbreak, or burnout... just trust it. Stay patient. Stay hopeful. And in the same breath, let’s also be part of the healing of our city. Refuse to add to the noise. Refuse to fuel the fire. Choose kindness, clarity, and courage.
Because if a body can knit itself back together after being cut open, then surely a country can too. As long as we choose healing over hatred, unity over chaos, and courage over fear... 1998 doesn’t have to repeat itself.
We deserve better. Our children deserve better. And it starts with each of us deciding: this time, we will not let the wounds define us, but the healing. Amen!
Stay safe,
Nuniek Tirta
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