I turned 30 and thought I was happy. To be fair, in many aspects, I was, really. But I’d also been suppressing doubts and questions about where life got me and where I wanted to be. 

I turned 30 and almost moved to Mexico City. A place I knew nothing of except for what I’d learnt from TV, and for what I’d been told: that I’d “love it”, in theory. And love, was the only reason I was planning to uproot my whole life in Jakarta, blindly (and quietly). Then came a twist: The man for whom I would move halfway across the world broke up with me. 

I turned 30 and quit a job I’d thought I’d stay on for all eternity. Blew up my savings and travelled to San Francisco, Orlando, and Hawaii to feel less guilty. And after all that, I packed my bags and moved to Singapore for the promise of new possibilities, in life and love, with nary a penny.

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