I used to think turning 30 would be terrifying.
Maybe because, in my mind, I still feel like an 18-year-old girl who had just graduated from high school. Somehow, the years passed so quickly that my brain never completely caught up with my actual age. I still laugh at silly jokes, get excited over little things, and sometimes wonder where all the time went.
But denial doesn't stop the calendar.
2026 is the final year of my twenties. As someone born in 1997, next year I'll officially step into my thirties. It's a strange feeling—equal parts exciting, emotional, and a little surreal. I don't think becoming older means losing the child within us. I actually hope mine never disappears. I only hope that alongside that childlike curiosity, I continue becoming a wiser, kinder, and more thoughtful person.
As I reflect on this stage of life, I've noticed three major changes in myself. Some people may see them as positive, while others may see them differently. But these changes have shaped who I am today.
1. I Started Thinking Like an Adult About Family Responsibilities
When I was younger and hadn't started working yet, I never really understood what it took to run a household.
My parents have rice fields, but back then I never thought about questions like: What should we plant this season? How much fertilizer do we need? How will the harvest be divided? Which expenses should come first? Those conversations belonged to adults, and I simply lived my life without paying much attention.
The same thing happened whenever we renovated the house. My role was simple—I helped my mother cook for the workers. That was all.
Today, things feel very different.
Instead of only helping in the background, I actively join discussions about how things should be done.
Last year, for example, we did a small renovation in our kitchen. Our kitchen isn't a modern kitchen with expensive cabinets or fancy appliances. It's a simple local Indonesian kitchen, and honestly, I love it that way.
One thing I suggested was adding a ventilation opening above the gas stove. We designed an opening around 80 × 80 cm and covered it with wire mesh so fresh air could circulate while preventing animals, insects, or leaves from entering.
It sounds like a tiny decision.
But that small improvement made the kitchen feel much safer and more comfortable because smoke and combustion gases could escape more efficiently.
Moments like this made me realize something.
Growing older isn't only about having more birthdays. It's about slowly developing the ability to observe problems, think rationally, and make practical decisions that genuinely improve everyday life.
Sometimes people joke that the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for planning and decision-making—fully develops around our mid-to-late twenties.
Whether that's exactly why or not, I definitely feel my thinking becoming more logical.
And honestly?
I enjoy it.
Participating in conversations about family responsibilities gives me a sense of purpose. It reminds me that I'm no longer just "the child" in the family. I'm becoming someone my parents can discuss important decisions with, and that feels incredibly meaningful.
2. I Learned That Protecting My Peace Isn't Being Cruel
If you had met me a few years ago, you would have seen someone who hated conflict.
I was the type of person who would rather stay silent than create tension. Even when my patience was constantly tested, I usually chose to understand others instead of standing up for myself.
Today...
My "cut-off mode" activates much faster.
Not because I've become heartless.
But because I've realized that honesty matters more than keeping superficial peace.
None of us are perfect—not me, not anyone else. We all make mistakes.
But I deeply value sincerity.
I find it difficult to pretend. The version of me you see in front of you is the same version behind your back. Because of that, I naturally hope other people choose honesty too.
As I approach thirty, I find myself paying much more attention to character than appearances.
I honestly don't care how successful someone looks, what brand they wear, or how impressive they appear.
What matters is
Are they honest?
Can they be trusted?
Those questions have become far more important than anything performative.
One painful experience changed my perspective forever.
Earlier this year, one of my older cousins passed away after being seriously ill. What hurt wasn't only the loss itself, but the fact that his immediate family intentionally kept his condition hidden from the rest of our extended family until it was too late.
That feeling...
It wasn't anger as much as heartbreak.
It felt like trust had been quietly taken away.
In my extended family, we've always been simple people. We don't have perfect lives, but we genuinely care about one another. Love has always been expressed through honesty and presence, not through appearances.
That incident forced me to rethink what family, trust, and relationships truly mean.
For me,
Trust, to me, is earned.
And losing it has consequences.
People may call me cold.
Some might even think I'm rude.
That's okay.
As long as I don't harm others, interfere with their lives, or do anything unethical, I'm comfortable being misunderstood.
Protecting my peace isn't selfish.
Sometimes, it's necessary.
3. Death Has Become Much More Real
This year has been one of the hardest emotionally.
I lost two people who were close to me.
The first was my neighbor, who lived only a few steps from my house.
She was like family.
Whenever her phone became slow, she'd ask me to fix it. If her television couldn't find the right channels, I'd help. If she needed help entering an electricity token, I'd do that too.
She often shared food with my parents and me simply because she wanted to.
She became ill in January and passed away in April.
Even now, it still feels unreal.
She was someone who rarely got sick, rarely visited hospitals, and always seemed healthy.
Her absence reminds me how fragile life truly is.
The second loss came only a few months later when my older cousin passed away in June.
But perhaps my thoughts about death actually began years earlier.
Back in 2018, my uncle—my mother's younger brother—passed away after an illness.
He owned a welding workshop and received phone calls from clients almost every day.
After he passed away, I remember seeing his phone lying on a table.
It kept ringing.
Again.
And again.
Nobody answered.
Nobody needed it anymore.
I remember thinking, SubhanAllah... in just one second, everything can change.
The phone that once felt so important suddenly became meaningless.
That moment has never left me.
As the years go by, death feels less like an abstract concept and more like an undeniable reality.
When someone moves to another city, we can still call them.
We can video chat.
We can hear their voice whenever we miss them.
But when someone leaves this world...
There is no phone call.
No message.
No video call.
Only memories.
Sometimes missing someone means quietly crying during prayer or alone in my room.
Sometimes it means smiling when I remember something funny they once did.
I've even intentionally read about what happens to the human body after burial—not because I'm fascinated by death, but because I want to remind myself that everything we own, everything we chase, and even our physical bodies will eventually return to the earth.
It's a reminder to stay humble.
To remember what truly matters.
So, what have I learned?
As I get closer to thirty, I still haven't found the complete answer to one question:
Why did God create me?
Not humanity's purpose in general.
Mine.
Personally.
Maybe that's a question I'll spend the rest of my life discovering.
But despite not having all the answers, I'm deeply grateful.
Grateful that God allowed me to exist, to breathe, and to live.
Especially,
To learn.
To love.
To make mistakes.
To lose people.
To laugh until my stomach hurts.
To cry until my prayers become conversations.
To experience enough of life that, little by little, shapes me into a more complete human being.
Perhaps growing older isn't about having life figured out.
Perhaps it's about becoming someone who continues searching for meaning with humility, gratitude, and hope.
As I step into my thirties, I don't wish for a perfect life.
I simply hope that every new year brings more wisdom than fear, more kindness than pride, and more moments that remind me to appreciate this beautiful, temporary life while I still have the chance. ✨
