I did something huge this week. I decided to buy a house.
Even writing that out feels surreal.
For most of my adult life, the idea of owning a house felt… far away. Not just in a financial sense, but emotionally. It felt like a commitment I wasn’t sure I was ready for, like trying to adopt a dog when you’re still figuring out if you’re a cat person. It was never on my radar. Not really.
Until six months ago.
Back then, life got a lot. Rent prices started rising and every renewal brought an unsettling feeling of “is this really worth it?” I’d start entertaining the idea of moving, only to be met with the headache of hunting, negotiating, packing, and finding a moving truck (which, I now know, isn’t as smooth outside of Jakarta). It wasn’t just stressful, it was overwhelming.
And just when I thought I had a grip, life threw a few more surprises: a leaky pipe I didn’t know was leaking (hello, inflated water bill!) and an AC unit that broke down only five months after maintenance, which now costs nearly triple the last one.
These things added up, not just financially, but mentally. All while I was juggling a big project at work. It was like trying to hold a dozen eggs in your hands and someone kept throwing you more.
One morning, I just snapped. Imagine a shaken soda can being popped open. Yes, that kind of snapped.
"Enough!" I told myself. “Let’s find a house. Now.”
