Another Dark Phase

Another dark phase in my life.

I honestly thought I had hit rock bottom before — turns out, there’s still more ground beneath that.

Got scammed. Lost everything I had. Just like that.
Every single thing I worked for, gone.

And the worst part? I didn’t even see it coming. I trusted the wrong people again. Maybe that’s my curse — giving too much trust, too much faith, too much heart.

As if that wasn’t enough, my second marriage is slowly crumbling into dust right in front of me.
And this time, I don’t even have a villain to blame — no fight, no betrayal, no explosion. Just quiet detachment. A slow, suffocating fade.

My own husband — the man who once said he couldn’t imagine his world without me — now says he’s “lost the spark.”
Just like that.
No warning, no explanation, no effort to fix what’s broken.
He said he doesn’t feel the chemistry anymore. That we don’t have anything in common.

I stared at him, trying to process how love can evaporate so cleanly — like it never existed.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying: you can love someone so deeply, so fiercely, and still end up being the only one fighting to stay.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He just said it as if he was announcing the weather.
Like my heart wasn’t breaking right in front of him.

And I stood there, frozen — too tired to scream, too numb to cry.
Because how do you fight for something when the other person already decided you’re not worth the effort?

I’ve been trying to rebuild my life from scratch, but it feels like the universe keeps handing me wreckage instead of hope.

Every time I start to breathe, another storm comes crashing in.
I’m exhausted. Not just physically, but spiritually.
Tired of surviving, tired of pretending to be okay, tired of being strong because apparently, I don’t get to fall apart.

People love to say, “Everything happens for a reason.”
Well, I’d love to know the reason behind being stripped of everything — money, love, trust, peace — all at once.

Maybe this is another lesson.
Or maybe life just enjoys watching me burn and call it growth.

Either way, I’m here again.
At the edge.
Trying to hold myself together with shaking hands.
Trying to remind myself that I’ve survived worse.
Trying to believe that someday, this will stop hurting.

But tonight, I’m just tired.
Tired of being resilient.
Tired of being tested.
Tired of starting over.

So if the world’s listening — I surrender.
Just let me rest.
For once.

BAWEL PENDIAM REBORN

An Indonesian woman, 43 years young, with a life plot twistier than your favorite binge-worthy drama—and trust me, that’s saying something. She’s been through more crazy turns than a rollercoaster built by a caffeine-fueled novelist on deadline. If life handed out trophies for surviving chaos? She’d have a whole shelf.

She’s no stranger to the absurd. Life’s thrown curveballs like it’s training for the World Series—heartbreaks, disappointments, weird family dynamics, and moments so ridiculous you’d swear they were scripted. But she’s still here, walking that tightrope between “What the hell just happened?” and “Bring it on, universe.” And with a smirk, because if you can’t laugh at the mess, what’s the point?

She talks to herself—often aloud—and no, she’s not crazy (well, maybe just a little). But those one-sided conversations? They’re therapy. A way to process the madness without dragging everyone else into the chaos. Her bolster pillow’s probably had more emotional outpourings than most therapists. It’s the silent witness to her battles, breakdowns, and occasional moments of sheer, unfiltered “What even is life?”

Her resilience isn’t polished or pretty. It’s messy. It’s grit mixed with a healthy dose of sarcasm. She’s learned that being “strong” isn’t about never falling—it’s about falling face-first, laughing at the dirt on your cheek, then getting up ready to kick some more ass. Scars? She’s got them. Each one a battle story, a reminder she survived what was supposed to break her.

She’s not here to pretend she has all the answers. Hell no. If life was a test, she’d still be flipping through the chapters, scribbling notes in the margins, occasionally doodling little middle fingers. But that’s okay. Because perfection is boring, and the wild ride? That’s where the real stories are.

She needs “me time” like plants need sunlight. Sometimes she wants to curl up in silence, just to hear herself think over the noise of the world. Other times, she craves connection, laughter, and hugs so big they squeeze out the exhaustion. She’s figuring it out, one chaotic, beautiful step at a time.

And here’s the kicker: despite the setbacks, the confusing plot twists, and the times she’s wanted to throw in the towel—she’s still burning bright. A fire that refuses to die, fueled by stubbornness, hope, and a killer playlist. She’s got grit in her veins, poetry in her soul, and a laugh that cuts through the darkness.

So yeah, she might not have life all figured out—no one really does. But she’s living it loud, proud, and wild. With a sarcastic grin, a heart full of grit, and the kind of strength that doesn’t need validation. Because in this chaotic mess called life, she’s not just surviving. She’s conquering.

x

A little Bit about Bawel Pendiam

An Indonesian woman, 43 years young, with a life so full of plot twists, even telenovelas would bow out. Her story isn’t a straight line—it’s a rollercoaster with no seatbelt and a DJ narrating it with dramatic sound effects.

She’s been through heartbreaks, career detours, emotional avalanches, and those “are you freaking kidding me?” moments life loves to throw at 2 a.m. But guess what? She’s still standing. Slightly tilted, maybe caffeinated, often sarcastic—but standing.

She talks to herself more than she should. Not because she’s lost it (well… maybe a little), but because sometimes the best conversations are the ones where no one interrupts. Her bolster? Basically her unpaid therapist. It’s heard things that would make a Netflix scriptwriter weep.

She doesn’t fake strength—she earns it. Through tear-stained pillows, awkward laughter in serious moments, and screaming into the void when no one’s around. She's not the “everything’s fine” type. She’s the “this is a mess, but I’ll make it fashion” kind.

She loves deeply but guards herself like a vault. Her fiancé is a walking dream, and even though she wants to spill her guts to him sometimes, she chooses to carry some weight alone. Not because she has to—but because she wants to protect the light they’ve built.

She craves peace, solitude, maybe a spa day, and uninterrupted naps. But even without all that, she keeps going. For her family, for her sanity, for herself.

She’s not trying to be perfect—she’s trying to be real. And real is raw, a little cracked, often hilarious, and always rising.

She’s not just surviving. She’s scripting her own epic, plot twist by plot twist. And spoiler alert: she wins.

Alhamdulillah (13 Juli 2022)

Alhamdulillah

with Allah’s blessing

we’re finally united in marriage.

Exhausted

Lately, I’ve been choking on emotions I can’t even name anymore—happy, sad, angry, confused, exhausted, tired, and mostly… done.
Just done with everything and everyone.

Last night, after a video call with my drop-dead gorgeous fiancé—the one person who still makes this chaos feel a little less cruel—I pressed my face into my bolster and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

Not because I don’t trust him. I do.
But because I’m so goddamn tired of explaining pain that doesn’t have words.
So I let the tears soak into the fabric instead, pretending it was him, holding me while the world burned quietly around us.

He’d fix it all if he could, I know that.
But this time, I needed to drown in my own silence.
No comfort. No pity. Just the noise inside my head eating me alive.

People say I talk to myself a lot lately. Maybe I do.
Maybe it’s the only conversation I can control anymore.
They can call me weird, or wacko, or unstable—whatever makes them sleep better at night.

I’m not hurting anyone.
But I’m bleeding quietly inside, and no one seems to notice.

All I need right now is him—and a hug strong enough to keep me from falling apart.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep carrying everyone else’s weight while mine keeps crushing me.
I’m trying to be the strong one, the reliable one, the one who holds it all together.

But tell me—
who the hell is holding me?

Where does my sanity go when everyone keeps taking their piece of me?

I just need a moment to breathe.
To scream.
To fall apart without guilt.

Just one moment of peace.

Hufft.

Can't I just take some rest, Please ?

أَسْتَغْفِرُ اللّٰهَ‎

I swear I’m this close to losing my sanity. 

This whole thing — this endless circus of problems — just won’t stop.

Every damn day it’s something new. Another fire to put out. Another mess to clean up. Another crisis that lands in my lap simply because I’m “the eldest” and “the responsible one.”

Do any of them even realize I’m human?

That I have a pulse, a mind, a breaking point?

Why can’t they just let me breathe for a moment? 

Just one moment.

I know my role. I know my responsibilities. I know people count on me.
But “overwhelmed” doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling right now.

It’s beyond overwhelmed — it’s drowning in a storm while people hand you more buckets of water.

I’ve been trying to rebuild my life from scratch, to claw back some piece of myself, but how do you focus when every single day a new “challenge” crashes through your door?

It’s like the universe waits for me to exhale just so it can shove another test in my face.

Every time I think, “Okay, one crisis down, now I can finally focus on me…”

Oh boy. I was so damn wrong.

Another wave comes. Another demand. Another burden that isn’t even mine to carry but somehow ends up strapped to my back.

It’s a vicious cycle, a treadmill from hell that I can’t seem to step off.

And while everyone claps for my strength, no one asks if I’m okay.

No one sees how thin I’m stretched. How my sanity is slipping through my fingers.

I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m hollow.

And all I want — all I’m begging for — is rest.

Just one day where I’m not the problem-solver, the caretaker, the “strong one.”

Can’t I just stop? 

Can’t I just sit down without the world collapsing?

Please. Just let me breathe.

When My mind becomes The Enemy

After the unnecessary drama with Mom on Wednesday (25 August 2021), I started to spiral. By Thursday night (26 August 2021), my brain decided to stir the pot and serve me a fresh plate of insecurity on a silver platter.

I asked him—my kind, drop-dead gorgeous fiancé—whether he’s ever thought anything negative about me.

He looked confused but didn’t press.

He knows me well enough to wait for the storm to pass before asking questions.

It got awkward—because of me.

So I lied.

Told him I wanted to sleep early.
Truth is, I stayed up until 3 a.m., overthinking myself into a corner.

Lately, I’ve been haunted by this thought I can’t seem to shake:
What if he thinks I’m only with him for money?

It’s not true—God knows it’s not.
I love him. Deeply. Sincerely.
But my brain has been on overdrive lately, setting fire to bridges I haven’t even crossed.

I can feel myself sabotaging something good—the one thing in my life that actually works—and I’m slowly poisoning it with my own fears.

Nendrong, my voice of reason, talked me off the ledge.

She told me, “He’s not thinking that. He’s sincere, and you know it. This is your insecurity talking.”

And she’s right.

He’s always shown up for me, no questions asked.
He once said, “Leave your problems to the world. I am your world.”
And I believed him.
I still do.

But my demons are loud, and lately, they’ve been screaming.

Maybe it’s the demotion.

Maybe it’s Mom.

Maybe it’s the years of trying to hold everything together while I fall apart in silence.

Divorced. Almost 40. No kids. Parents divorced. Demoted. Still stuck in a job that doesn’t value me.

It’s a messy resume of life, and the only solid thing I have is my relationship.

And yet… I doubt that too.

What if one day he wakes up and realizes I’m not the one?

What if I’m just not enough?

Nendrong snapped me out of it again.

“Don’t ruin your happiness with negativity,” she said.

“You got lucky in love—that’s rare. Be grateful. Some of us would trade everything for a relationship like yours.”

She’s right.

I need to stop playing victim in a life that’s still writing its story.

So today, I’m writing this down to remind myself: I need a distraction.

Not to forget—but to refocus.

To take care of my mind before it ruins something beautiful.

Because right now?

My relationship is the only thing keeping me sane.

And I’ll be damned if I let my own thoughts take that away from me.