Small Plans for a Better Year

Happy New Year!

How was your 2025? Was it great?

Mine was a bit of a rocky road, especially in the last semester. Someone made poor financial decisions that affected us. So yes, we are among the people who have had to tighten our belts until now, right in the middle of this global economic turmoil and rising prices almost everywhere. We even postponed our New Year holiday. 😞

So in 2026, I need to set up more faucets of income by optimizing and monetizing what I already have, like my blog. One of my other blogs used to get good traffic, and brands wanted to place content there. But when I decided I no longer wanted to write reporting-style articles and chose to focus on personal essays instead, the traffic dropped. That is why I made this blog specifically for my personal writing.

I have also been thinking about creating a pay-as-you-wish digital zine. The idea came from a friend I met last Christmas. He made a handmade zine with illustrations drawn using crayons and colored pencils. Inside, he wrote about his personal life.

Another idea is to start a small business, maybe a coffee shop on our terrace, run by my husband. At the same time, he can look for a part-time job with dollar-based income. Why a coffee shop? Because we both love coffee. If the business does not run well, at least we can still use the tools for ourselves. This small business could also serve as a safety net by the time I retire.

So my hope for 2026 is simple. I hope we can loosen our belts and take a holiday whenever we want.

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Photo by BoliviaInteligente on Unsplash

The Wedding Lessons I Wish I Knew

I want this blog to become something my child can keep when I am no longer here, a small record of choices I made and lessons I carried. Some of those lessons came from the way I planned my own engagement party and wedding reception in 2017. They were meaningful days, but I made several decisions that I hope my daughter will not repeat.

At my engagement party, I did not hire a professional makeup artist or hairstylist. I wore a simple kebaya, which was fine, because simplicity can be beautiful. The problem was not the kebaya. It was the lack of care in how I prepared myself. A professional touch helped me feel more polished and confident.

There was also the matter of the gift. Traditionally, the future husband gives a meaningful gift, often a gold ring. In my case, I ended up buying my own necklace, a titanium piece with a fragile stone that broke not long after. It is no longer with me. I want my daughter to know that a symbolic gift is not about price. It is about intention and respect, not just 'yang penting ada'.

My wedding reception itself still feels warm in my memory. It was simple, intimate, and graceful. The challenge was that I planned everything on my own. As a result, my cousin had to keep asking questions during the event, and I found myself dividing my attention between being a bride and being an organizer. Since my daughter is also an only child, just like me, I suggest hiring a wedding organizer. It allows you to be present, to enjoy the moment fully, and to leave the logistics in capable hands.

These are small lessons, but they shaped the way I think about preparation, intention, and care. I write them here so she can learn from them, or at least understand why her mother made the choices she did.

This lesson also carries into choosing a partner. Do not settle for the bare minimum or for someone who only happens to be there. Choose someone who does not make you feel as if everything must begin from zero. Begin at five or even ten, so you have room to grow and build a fuller life.

The Two Sides

Cancer has become a familiar topic in my life these days because many friends have lost relatives to it.

My boss happened to recommend an article by Tatiana Schlossberg, the granddaughter of John F. Kennedy, in The New Yorker. In that piece, she describes discovering she had cancer shortly after giving birth to her second child. Nurses noticed unusually high white blood cell counts. She brushed it off at first because she felt strong and lived a healthy life. She exercised often. Nothing seemed wrong. Yet the tests showed acute myeloid leukemia, tied to a rare mutation called Inversion 3.

She wrote about the treatments she underwent, including a bone marrow transplant, and how the disease kept returning. She wrote about missing time with her children, especially her newborn. She lost nearly half of her baby’s first year. 

After reading her story, I listened to a conversation with Atul Gawande, a surgeon who also writes. In his early career, he struggled with the discomfort of being imperfect, especially during his first operations. Later, he learned to accept mistakes and trust his ability to respond to them. But when he entered cancer care, he faced a different kind of difficulty. He said that in cancer practice, you often meet patients you simply cannot fix. He admitted he did not yet know what it meant to be good at caring for people whose problems had no cure.

I cried when I read Schlossberg’s story. As a mother, I worry about the possibility of serious illness, whether in myself or in my daughter, and the thought of being apart by death is frightening. Like Schlossberg, I want to enjoy every single moment with my child, because none of us knows how long we get to hold those moments.

Back to the writing, I feel that these two perspectives are a full circle. On one side, a patient who is frightened, frustrated, and grieving the time she may lose. On the other, a doctor who carries the weight of knowing his skills cannot save everyone, yet still tries to make each person’s remaining time meaningful.

Gawande also explained that people have goals beyond simply living longer. Those goals differ from one person to another, and they change over time. The only reliable way to understand them is to ask. But doctors do not ask often enough. When care does not match a patient’s priorities, suffering grows.

I do not have a conclusion after reading and listening to all this. It is simply eye-opening to see the fears, limits, and dilemmas from both sides. It made me feel for the patient’s sadness, but also recognize the strain on the people trying to help.