#deepthinking

Not every blog I write is about politics, tech, or society. Sometimes, it's just raw emotion. Just me sat here in the garden, 3:30am in the morning. Cool air brushing past me like a ghost of something long gone. I think. I reflect. And sometimes, I write.

Being an only child teaches you a few things. And not in the fairy tale way people imagine spoiled, pampered, coddled. No, it teaches you how to survive silently. It shows you what it means to be independent out of necessity, not out of choice.

When you grow up without siblings, you learn early on: you’ve got no backup. No brother to step in when someone’s giving you hell. No sister to confide in when your heart breaks at 17. You are your own team, your own lifeline. And that reality hardens you in places most people never even realise.

You notice things others overlook. Every smirk someone throws your way. Every twitch of discomfort. Every shoulder shrug, foot shuffle, eye roll  it's all data. You become fluent in body language, because when you’re alone, you have to read the room like your life depends on it. That’s how you know if someone’s real… or if they’re just wearing a mask.

You learn to make every moment count because you don't get the luxury of a “next time.” That friend you talk to might vanish tomorrow. That one phone call could be the last. So you pour yourself into it, into them. Because part of you knows it could all go silent again.

I’ve had many of those late, late nights. Trust me. Too many. Like right now. Just me, my thoughts, and a quiet world that doesn’t know or care that I’m still awake. No texts. No footsteps coming down the stairs. No laughter echoing from another bedroom. Just me.

Was there a time I wished I had siblings? Yeah, there was. Especially growing up. When I saw kids arguing and then hugging five minutes later, I envied that. When I saw brothers sticking up for each other, or sisters planning sleepovers together, I felt that ache. That little voice in my chest whispering, Why not me?

But now? No. I’m happy with the silence. It’s made me who I am. It’s not a life for everyone. But it’s mine. It’s lonely sometimes, sure. But it’s taught me resilience, empathy, observation, and above all self-reliance. You learn to handle yourself. Because, quite frankly, you have no other choice.

So this blog isn’t just a post. It’s a piece of my heart. A rare one. Not polished or political. Just honest. If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt alone  really alone  know that I get it. And know that being alone doesn’t mean being lost. It means being tested. Sharpened. Seasoned.

And if you're out there tonight, wide awake like me, staring into the dark... you're not the only one.

Mengingat dan menimbang pada dasarnya perempuan adalah sosok yang sangat mudah memberi dan berkorban (litterally ini ada di buku Man vs Venus). 

Dulu saya pikir, mencintai selalu berbentuk kata kerja untuk memberi. Bagaimana Ayah& Ibu yang mencintai anak-anaknya memberikan keseluruhan yang terbaik. 

Tapi ternyata, bentuk mencintai as a woman to a man, adl ketika ia mampu menerima dengan sebaik baik penerimaan atas setiap pemberian sang kekasihnya. Bukan, ini bukan tentang “mensyukuri apapun itu.” 

Ini tentang, sebagai seseorang yang 24 tahun hidup as a single, saya sangat mandiri. Litterally benar2 mandiri. Dulu pernah sedemikian disiplin sama diri sendiri memanage 24 jam waktu saya, sendiri. Membaginya menjadi waktu2 bersama Ayah menemani Ayah jalan pagi, atau mengantar Ibu belanja, dan waktu2 untuk organisasi yang sedang saya jalankan terlibat aktif di dalamnya. 

Menjadi seorang perempuan yang mandiri, di usia saya yang hampir 1/4 abad di tahun ini, saya belajar sebuah teori dari sebuah buku. Bahwa perempuan, akan bahagia ketika ia dicintai, dan dalam hal ini membiarkannya menerima berbagai hal; waktu, perhatian, hadiah2 sederhana, dan banyak hal lain. 

Dan laki-laki, akan bertumbuh karena penerimaan terbaik dari pasangannya. 

Ternyata benar, memulai hubungan relationship as a woman with a man, perlu diilmui terlebih dahulu.