A cup of matcha, a sip of gratitude

This morning, I stumbled upon a post on Instagram.

Instead of thinking about the challenges in your life, why not count and celebrate little blessings?

Let’s rewind a bit.

For the last three weeks, I almost had no days off. Maybe two Sundays, but those were spent on house chores and groceries. So yesterday, Saturday, the adrenaline wore off and I could finally “hear” my body and surprise surprise! it was exhausted. I needed a full day of rest. But still, Saturdays are for important things first: I took my daughter for her flu vaccine, then we did some stationery shopping. Oddly, Medan’s traffic was unusually heavy. I was worn off after lunch and decided to go home.

Then came today. Sunday. I planned to go to CFD, but my friend has been sick since Friday, and going alone didn’t feel appealing. My daughter had her coding class, and I still felt as drained as yesterday. I decided not to let the day slip away. I grabbed my bag, put on my helmet, with no plan in mind. On the way, I remembered a matcha place I saw on TikTok, and had noticed a few paper bags from the same shop in my office. Someone clearly loved it. And here I am, at Mtch Bar Medan.

So… about those “little celebrations.”

A different kind of "performance" review

This July, I had the unexpected chance to be the MC for an office event. My very first time MCing anything, ever.

The invitation came out of nowhere. HR called me in the week before the event. Apparently, they needed someone who could be MC in English. And while I’ve worked as an auditor for three years, not once had I used English formally in my role. So when this opportunity landed on my lap, I knew I couldn't let it pass.

But of course, as soon as I said yes, the insecurities kicked in. That inner voice? Oh, it had a lot to say.
"She speaks better English than you."
"He’s way more charismatic on stage."
"You? You’re just lucky."

And yet, thank God, I’ve lived long enough to recognize that voice. Not as truth, but as fear in disguise. I didn’t try to fight it this time. I let the thoughts come, let them echo, then quietly watched them pass. Maybe those people are better. But this opportunity didn’t land in their inbox. It landed in mine. So I’ll take it, own it, and if I mess up, well, then I’ll learn something.

Between bites and movie credits (Nonnas)

When you think of a place to eat to satisfy your appetite, you probably think of a famous restaurant or café with a lot of positive reviews about the taste. But let me ask you something. Have you ever been to a place where you didn’t expect anything at first, but when you went there, you just felt this strange comfort, like you were exactly where you were meant to be? It sounds deep, but you know what I mean, right? That feeling when you sense the universe quietly arranging things so that, in this exact moment, this is where you belong. You become aware of yourself, your surroundings, and what you eat suddenly isn’t just about what’s on the plate, but everything around it.

I got bitten by a wasp and became philosophical

 

Last night, for the first time in my life, I got bitten by a wasp. On my right palm, right under my pointer finger. And let me tell you, no amount of pain metaphor I can think of will ever do it justice. It wasn’t just a sting; it was a full-body betrayal. My nerves were on fire, my mind spiraled. I actually stood there wondering, “Is this venomous? What if my hand goes numb and I can’t use it again? How do I audit with one hand - left hand?”

So of course, in true small-town audit fieldwork fashion, my team took me to an orang pintar nearby. He cleaned the sting, gave me five different types of mystery pills (which I didn't take because, no thank you, random unlabeled substances). By the time I got back to the hotel, the pain had eased a little. And by morning, it was like it never happened. And maybe because I’m perpetually tired and slightly philosophical these days, I started thinking about how much this whole thing reminds me of my life in the last 3 years.

Going home to what and who matter more

Going home each year is never just about the flights back, road trip, gifts, or family gatherings. It’s a moment to breathe deeper, to let go of the weight I’ve been carrying. 

It’s a major shift in perspective, a reminder of what my heart has always known: that beyond the daily rush of Medan, there are things that matter more that I should take care more and ones that I've been neglecting.

The rhythm of office life is relentless, always convincing me that what I do is significant, or at the very least, it will be, someday. In many ways, I am grateful. I take comfort in knowing I’m supporting my husband as we build a life for our family. Medan, despite its noise and chaos, offers a future for my child that my hometown simply cannot.

But then, I go home twice a year. And home is different. It is slower, softer. It is where life feels less like a battle and more like a gentle flow.