Make the Best of an Ordinary Life

 As the clock winds down on 2024, I can’t help but laugh a little at how this year felt like a chaotic sitcom starring yours truly. Between trying to "live my best life" and Googling how to be a functional adult at 30-something , I’m honestly just proud we made it through without accidentally subscribing to something cringe-worthy… again. Let’s be real, though—2024 was a mixed bag. There were the anxiety-filled sleepless nights (you know, the ones where your brain replays that awkward thing you said in 2012), but also those unexpected bursts of joy that reminded me life doesn’t always have to be so serious. Like when I wore mismatched undies to an important occasions and somehow still nailed it. Or when I finally said "no" to things that drained me and "yes" to that double chocolate cupcake because of priorities. And then there’s the big lesson: growth doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes it’s messy, like trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the inst...

Hello, Lovely Humans, You know what I love about the holiday season? Time off. Just pure, unfiltered me-time. Today’s vibe is straight out of a melancholy indie film: drizzle tapping on the window, lo-fi beats humming in the background, and a sky so grey it feels like someone forgot to color it in. Perfect, right? Well, almost.   Maybe it’s the weather or the fact that I reread The Unidentified Redhead (again), but I found myself in full Grace Sheridan mode, trying to “live in the moment.” Sounds effortlessly chic, doesn’t it? Except, living in MY moment includes the neighbor going wild with a hammer and the “tukang tahu” announcing his golden tofu like it’s Coachella headliner news. “Tahu tahu bulat! Tahu digoreng dadakan!”—the Indonesian remix nobody asked for. Chaos? Yes. A vibe? Also yes.   Anyway, I dragged myself out of bed and made a bold choice to treat myself: kopi tubruk. It’s my version of a bougie indie-film ritual—imagine sipping coffee in a serene Bali café ...

Last Friday, I hit the big 3-9. Yep, 39. Honestly, I was terrified. That familiar spiral of overthinking kicked in: What have I done with my life? Am I where I should be? Why do my knees hurt for no reason now?  You know, the classics. But instead of throwing myself a pity party, I decided to celebrate like a pro—by being gloriously lazy in bed. Binge-watching, snacking, doing absolutely nothing productive. And let me tell you, it was divine.   Now, here’s the thing. Every year, I panic about the number. It’s like, Oh no, I’m getting old! What if I end up adopting 17 cats? Like hell my mom would let me!  But this year? Something shifted. I woke up (from a nap, obviously) and thought, Screw it. I’m 39, single, no kids—and weirdly, I’m happy . Not “pretending to be happy on Instagram” happy, but genuinely, “Wow, life is good” happy.   Why? Because I have my people—family, friends, my ride-or-die circle. They love me for who I am: Chitra Indri Tanjung, quirks ...

This random thought hit me like a freight train while I was submerged in Monday’s tsunami of tasks. My inbox was exploding, deadlines were looming like storm clouds, and somewhere amidst the chaos, my coffee had gone cold before I even remembered I poured it. That’s when it hit me: when was the last time I actually danced ? I’m not talking about the "awkward wedding shuffle" or the "half-hearted TikTok move you instantly regret" kind of dance. I’m talking about the real deal—the carefree, “who cares if I look like a noodle in a windstorm” kind of dancing. When was the last time I did that ? As I tried to recall, my mind drifted to a hilariously embarrassing moment in my younger years. Picture this: techno beats blasting, RnB vibes in the air, and me, a crew member on a layover, supposed to be resting (or maybe writing some deep essay on the socioeconomic impact of something-or-other). But nope. The music came on, and suddenly I was in my own world where stress had n...

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, but with a twist: imagine your saddest, most cringeworthy memory as a scene from a Netflix comedy. Picture the quirky characters, the over-the-top dramatics, and, of course, the snarky narrator chiming in with biting commentary. Suddenly, that breakup or awkward job interview isn’t tragic—it’s a painfully funny subplot in your personal sitcom. You know the kind of moment I’m talking about. You’re standing there, the world crumbling around you, and all you can think is, “Of course this would happen to me.” Cue the laugh track. Sure, it’s mortifying, but with a little imagination, it’s Emmy-worthy. And that’s the irony of life, isn’t it? Every awkward encounter, every epic fail—it’s comedy gold when you’re not the one living it. But here’s the kicker: the words we use to describe these moments, to ourselves and others, are what shape how we remember them. Are they tragedies or punchlines? Are we victims or just characters in a wildly unpredictable st...

Oh, hey there. Not insomnia exactly, but I’m definitely channeling some clueless owl energy tonight.  My mind is on a marathon, racing in every direction, despite the painkillers that are supposed to knock me out. It’s day three post-surgery, and after spending an entire day in bed, my neck is so stiff it feels like I’ve turned into a mannequin and the no voice at all. The glamorous life, right?   I’ve always known I’m a bit of a random thinker. My brain loves to go off on tangents, often about the most useless things. Tonight’s feature? My strange love affair with the number 14. Not gonna lie—I’ve always been the kind of person who reads into signs and assumes the universe is leaving me cryptic little messages. Stupid? Absolutely. Dumb? For sure. Can I stop? Not a chance.   So, why 14? It just feels right . Even though in Chinese culture, it’s considered one of the unluckiest numbers because it sounds like “to die” (yikes), I can’t help but love it. Maybe it’s ...