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 and all. I know I can count on them, and that’s a feeling money—or a perfectly curated Pinterest life—can’t buy.
But let’s not sugarcoat things. This year wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. Two tumors? Yup, got those and hell yeah another upcoming surgery still awaiting on the corner. Academic chaos? Nailed it I am fucking graduating with perfect score. Professional rollercoaster? Front row seat, baby! with an extra rocking boat High tide. There were moments I thought, Seriously, universe? Give me a break! But then I realized: the universe wasn’t trying to break me; it was busy building a stronger, sassier me. Plot twist: I’m still standing. And thriving.
And through it all, I’ve held onto one unshakable truth—everything happens for a reason, as part of a greater plan. Every twist, every turn, every “Are you kidding me right now?!” moment is a blessing from Allah SWT.
So here’s to 39: a year of rollercoaster, HIGH laughs, utterly chaos, and maybe—just maybe—finally mastering a cat eyeliner on both eyes. (One can dream.)
Love,
Chits
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