A story about imagining future retirement life, falling in love with a dream apartment, and learning that some dreams are previews of blessings yet to come.
Okay, confession time: I just need to say this out loud before I explode: my husband looked ridiculously handsome today. Like, unfairly handsome. The kind that makes you forget what you were about to say mid-sentence. No need to post his photo this time, coz he’d get smug, and you’d catch a crush, LOL.
We were out together because he had some business to attend to, and I was just tagging along. And honestly, I could barely focus on anything else. I kept thinking, cieee, suamiku ganteng banget hari ini <3. That’s it. That’s the post. If this were Instagram, I’d stop right there with a heart emoji and call it a day.
But since we’re here on my blog, let’s talk about something else before I melt into a puddle of admiration.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my future self. The version of me who’s already an oma, living peacefully after my husband’s gone (hopefully decades from now, thank you very much) and my kids are settled with their own families. I’ve always told my husband and daughters that I only see two options for that chapter of my life.
Option one: live in a senior living resort.
We’ve actually visited a few. There’s Rukun Senior Living in Indonesia, where we’ve stayed several times as a family. It’s peaceful, the air’s clean, the facilities are complete, and the staff genuinely care. And then there’s Penang Retirement Resort in Malaysia, which we toured earlier this year. It’s like staying at a luxury resort but forever. They’ve got everything from medical care to gourmet dining. The rates are surprisingly reasonable too. If you ever imagine retirement as sipping tea on a balcony overlooking a garden while a friendly nurse reminds you to take your vitamins, this is it.
Option two: live in a condo with a mall downstairs and a hospital nearby.
Simple logic. If I can just take the lift down to grab groceries and everything I need, life’s good. Plus, I don’t drive, so proximity matters. But of course, not just any condo will do. I don’t want to live somewhere where parking’s a nightmare, management’s a mess, or where the gossip’s juicier than the fruit at the mini-mart. And don’t get me started on those apartments with sketchy tenants or prostitutes. No, thank you.
So, guess what’s been happening lately?
I’ve been secretly stalking this one particular apartment complex. It checks every single box on my future-home wishlist. It’s not just a condo with a mall attached; it’s a full-blown superblock. Connected to the train (KRL), bus lines, and even right by the toll gate, no red lights in between. The location is like destiny. Smack dab in the middle of my entire life’s map: my mom’s house, my in-laws, my siblings, and even my properties. It’s like the universe drew a perfect circle and said, “Here, Nuniek, this is your hub.”
And here’s the cherry on top: it’s developed by the same company that built my current apartment, which I absolutely love. Their management is excellent, their maintenance team actually shows up when you call, and the facilities always look like the brochure promised. And I've been specifically eye-ing this particular penthouse unit type.
But of course, there’s a “but.”
The rent is… well, technically I could afford it, but it would mean rearranging a few other priorities. The kind of mental math that makes you question your definition of “need.” So for now, I’m just keeping it in my bookmarks, checking in almost every day to see if there’s something new, while still thinking.
Until today.
Out of nowhere, I get a WhatsApp from one of their salespeople. I didn’t even contact them. My PA number got the message first, probably from some ancient database. I told them, “I’m just looking to rent,” and they said, “No problem, come see the show unit anyway.”
And well, curiosity won.
So off we went. And OMG.
That place isn’t an apartment; it’s a lifestyle. The show unit looked like it came straight out of Architectural Digest. Every corner screamed elegance. The pool is magnificent. There’s a jacuzzi with an open view of the city skyline. A private theatre room (what?!), game room, billiard tables, co-working spaces, even function halls that look like five-star hotel ballrooms.
At one point, I looked around and thought, this is nicer than most senior living resorts.
And as I stood by the balcony of the penthouse show unit, I caught a glimpse of my husband again, still looking way too handsome, and it hit me: maybe this isn’t about the apartment. Maybe it’s about dreaming of a future that feels full. A life that’s still exciting even when I’m older. A home that’s more than just walls and windows, but a reminder that I’m still alive, curious, and hopeful.
Because here’s the thing: when you allow yourself to dream, even about something as simple as where you might live one day, it keeps you young. It keeps you moving. It keeps that little spark of “someday” alive.
Sure, maybe I can afford it today, but I also have other priorities. I like to think of it as God giving me a little preview, a teaser trailer of what’s possible if I keep showing up, keep working, and keep being grateful.
So yes, I’m still praying that one day I’ll live in a place like that: comfortably, peacefully, surrounded by everything and everyone I love.
For now, we’re just taking our time. Looking, thinking, and letting the idea quietly grow on us. Kind of like how I glance at my husband’s babyface and think, hmm… maybe this is worth saying yes to.
Because some dreams are meant to be stared at first… until the time comes to walk right into them.
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