Christmas, Cake, and a 45 Year Old Legend

Merry Christmas and happy 45th birthday to my amazing husband! The yin to my yang. The calm app to my permanently open tabs. Year 2025 really said, “Let’s test you,” didn’t it? Testing limits, patience, and faith all at once. So here’s my prayer for the new year. More luck. More ease. More people loving you. And above all, God’s blessing wrapped around you like bubble wrap. Amen.

The day started exactly how every memorable family day should. With chaos.

From BSD, we had to swing by Jagakarsa first. The main mission was innocent enough. Pick up pre ordered bread from my former neighbor. Secondary mission, collect a giant burger from Ken’s Burger for birthday candle blowing purposes. Because nothing says “happy 45th” like a burger pretending to be a cake.

But of course, upon arrival, another neighbor was about to leave for mudik. So we talked. And talked. And kept talking while repeatedly saying, “We really have to go,” yet not moving at all.

Our Dutch tenant had already waited. The bathroom door was locked. The key was inside. Thankfully, no human was trapped, just a very determined door. We tried every key we had like contestants on a locksmith game show. Thirty minutes later, still no success. Since time was chasing us aggressively, we handed the problem over to our gardener. Thankfully, later that day, he solved it unconventionally: he crawled through the airvent under the door, and opened it from inside! All fixed amazingly!

Next stop was to pick up my mom. From there, straight to for Christmas at my in laws’ house, as tradition demands. When we arrived, the house was already full. Big family. Bigger food. had arrived, beautifully made by my . And cakes. So many cakes that counting them felt unnecessary and emotionally unsafe.

It got even better. My entire family came too. My big sister and her family. My younger sister and hers. Loud laughs, overlapping conversations, happy chaos everywhere. And somehow, mysteriously, my side of the family all showed up wearing green. No planning. No group chat. Just accidental Christmas coordination. So of course, we gotta take family pics, lots of them!

Too lazy to ask for consent one by one so let me just post this sketched version thanks to AI 😆

After eating, chatting, taking photos, and watching a few brave souls fall into food comas, we finally said our goodbyes around 5 p.m. Full stomachs. Fuller hearts. My mom came home with us so she could join our road trip the next day.

Back home, we were greeted by hampers. Many hampers. Petite made cakes from Mba Levina Herwanto and family. Frozen food from Mba Liza Djohan. Bandeng Juwana, Holland Bakery cheese roll, and dangerously addictive cookies from @kuekirana, courtesy of my brother in law Christ Billy Aryanto. At this point, our house looked less like a home and more like a very successful snack exhibition.

Later that night, during dinner, one of our kids suddenly cried. At first, we all assumed it was because her dad and I had spoken a little too firmly after she mixed old rice with freshly cooked rice, which, at that moment, felt like a very emotional crime. We let her cry. No comforting. No distracting. No talking. When my mom tried to cheer her up, I gently stopped her. I wanted her to process and regulate her emotions first.

After a while, I hugged her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my waist. I asked softly, “Are you sad, angry, annoyed, or disappointed?” She said, “Sad.” I apologized, and my husband apologized too for speaking a bit too harshly. She shook her head and said it wasn’t because of that. So I asked again, “Do you want to talk about it now or later?” She said, “Now.”

We switched into full listening mode. And it turned out the tears had nothing to do with rice at all. She had been feeling unhappy for a semester. Burned out. Unable to do the things she loved: dancing, writing, exercising. Everything poured out. All the dirty water finally drained. Together, we helped her make space for clearer thoughts to flow again. We held space and comforted her, with her consent.

I suggested setting better boundaries and carving out proper me time. My husband encouraged her to make firmer decisions. Her older sister reminded her to be brave enough to say no. Not long after, she was laughing again, joking with her sister like nothing had happened. And my heart felt full. Because that’s what family is for, right? I hope she will always remember that she has a place called home where she can fall apart, be heard, and feel safe doing so.

Night fell, and instead of resting like sensible adults, I packed again. Road trip packing hits differently. You’re tired, excited, slightly delirious, and suddenly convinced you might need everything you own. As usual, the closer travel gets, the harder it is to sleep. Add exhaustion to the mix and there I was, wide awake, overthinking socks at midnight.

Tomorrow I’ll be the navigator while my husband drives solo. Hopefully not as a sleepy, useless one. Wish us luck. Or caffeine. We’ll happily take both.

Thursday, 25 December 2025

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