I have been a professional writer for five years.

Gastronomy, lifestyle, travel, sustainability, culture, and history are some of the themes that I have worked with in the past. I love getting involves with individuals, companies, organizations, and communities with stories to tell.

Words, sentences, stories... these are my passion. I love to take new challenges in writing for various format and media. I create contents for websites, blogs, and communication materials.

Reach me at eve(dot)tedja(at)gmail(dot)com

Adult Angst and Disturbing Thought

On a weak attempt to reignite my diminishing creative spark, I went into a hiatus for the last two weeks. Double Balinese holiday celebration and triple national holidays later, I am here and still far from being enlightened or inspired. My reasoning goes as far as these: 1.) I’ve been working my butt off since the beginning of this year with interior projects and my start-up company 2.) I barely taking care of myself, physically or mentally 3.) I haven’t created something meaningful in a while.

I miss the old me. The giddy, life-is-full-of-adventure and giggling old me. I am perfectly aware that I am not that cheerful anymore, especially without the liquid assistance from a dear friend, Pinot Noir. I also realize I do not go out socially as often as I used to do. Weekdays are spent in auto-pilot mode and gruesomely ruled by the Wunderlist. I rarely meet new people outside work or even if I do, our relationship is maintained through ‘noted with thanks’ e-mails. Going out on the weekends are just... painful. Killer heels, dressing up, driving 40 minutes to where the potential “socializing” takes place... who is capable of doing that anymore? Seriously.

Have I even mentioned my role as a husband-less housewife? Despite Mbok Made -my Godsend domestic angel/helper- who comes once a week to help with the ironing and dusting works at home, I still have to do the occasional cleaning, watering the plants, taking out the rubbish, feed the dog, laundry and cooking. Don’t even get me started on cooking or the spiteful cleaning up after cooking. Blergh. I have high maintenance taste buds that refuse to eat MSG filled nasi bungkus and have trained myself to be more aware of what I eat; hence, cooking my own food becomes day-to-day survival activity.

At the end of the day, I reach home and feeling absolutely drained. Is this what adulthood supposed to be like? Like, really? Fuck you Carrie. Okay, I have my own credit card and hypothetical freedom to do whatever I like to do or have sex or get drunk or whatever adulthood privileges that entails. But really, adulthood? So far, it’s so meh. 

First, I have to work to earn my living. I do find occasional joy in my work, like when I finished a project and pulled a Nate Berkus with my before and after renovation ta-dah and the client says ‘well done’; that is certainly gratifying. But still, I come home afterward and find my own house is in disarray. Secondly, no time for doing things that you actually love. For half of my adult life, books and films are my sanctuary. To learn that I can’t even indulge myself in those nowadays just kills me. They are just sitting there in a corner, gathering dust, unread, unwatched. Every time I managed to flip a page or play a DVD, I would most likely to fall asleep in the next 15 minutes. Thirdly, peer pressure and raging hormone. I thought puberty was pretty bad but this almost-thirty-and-still-unmarried-whats-wrong-with-you-shit just made puberty feels like a joke. Add the hormone, menstrual cycle and losing your eggs every other month to that equation and you got a Maleficient-time-bomb-on-the-go. 

Perhaps life will be easier if I don’t want too much thing to happen or having a long bucket list of things I’d like to do before I die, but being content has never been my strong trait. In reference of my favorite TV show, Mad Men; I’ll never be happy being a Betty. I am, sort of, a Peggy although God forbid, hopefully never a Megan. I’d like to be able to zoubisoubisou-ed my way through life and landed a Don Draper, but really, she wants everything and I have learnt the hard way that you can never get absolutely everything in life.

It’s the first of June when I pour my angst into this piece. I feel so much better already. I guess I am one of the lucky few who don’t need Xanax or Johnnie Walker to get rid of the darkness. I have joined a gym like any proper urban adult living in the city supposed to do and found out joyously through Zumba, that I do have a hidden inner Beyonce. I finally read Pramoedya’s Bumi Manusia during this hiatus and it made all the difference in my life. I’m still debating on should I join Tinder for dating or not. I miss my parents more than ever and wish they are around so I can ask them about their own adult angst. I am still optimistic and hopeful on how this year is going to unfurl.

However, I still need to make a pedicure appointment because my calluses can beat any proud hobbit, my home is still in disarray and my credit card bills (don’t look, don’t know!) are hidden somewhere in between those mess. But I think I will be fine if I can manage to produce a piece of writing like this. Occasionally.

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