In Indonesia, family gatherings often come with a predictable set of questions from the elders and aunties.
It begins with, “Kapan lulus?” then moves to, “Kapan kerja?” followed by, “Mana kok pacarnya nggak diajak?” and finally, the grand finale: “Kapan nikah?”
I have now passed all those stages.
I used to dislike being asked such things, especially the one about marriage. It always felt invasive. With time, however, I realised that those questions were rarely meant to offend. They were simply polite conversation starters, the way older people show interest in your life. Still, it does not always feel pleasant. Eventually, I learned to give the safest answer:
“Hehe iya, sedang diusahakan, doain ya.”
That simple line works like a charm.
Now that I am married, the questions have changed.
This time it is, “Udah isi belum?”
And my answer remains the same:
“Hehe iya, sedang diusahakan, doain ya.”
That is, until one day I missed my period for seven days.
I have always tracked my cycle carefully, especially during the months before my wedding. It had always been regular, almost to the day. So when it came late, I began to worry.
At that time, I had only been married for three months, and the thought of being pregnant scared me deeply. I had just begun learning to be a wife, and suddenly the idea of becoming a mother felt overwhelming. My husband, as always, remained calm. I think he had already prepared himself for fatherhood long before. For him, nothing much would change physically. But for me, it felt different. The burden, both physical and emotional, would fall entirely on me.
I took two pregnancy tests that week. Both were negative. Even so, I could not shake the thought that it might still be possible. We had been taking precautions, the natural kind, but nothing is ever guaranteed. Eventually, my period arrived, and all my fears dissolved into relief. We returned to our newlywed rhythm, light-hearted and content.
Looking back, I do not know what I was thinking. Perhaps it was hormones, perhaps longing, or perhaps the simple truth that my husband only comes home every six weeks, which makes every moment together feel too precious. We stopped thinking too much about precautions. We are married after all, and I began to feel that if pregnancy happened, it would not be such a terrible thing.
Now, five months into marriage, I noticed something different. On the day my period was supposed to begin, there was only a faint trace of blood. It was unusual, since my flow is usually heavy from the first day. My mind immediately went to the term “implantation bleeding,” when a fertilised egg attaches to the uterine wall. I counted the days and compared the timeline. Everything seemed to match.
Perhaps I was pregnant.
But this time, I felt calm. There was a strange sense of acceptance. I thought to myself, “If I am pregnant, then so be it.” For the first time, I felt ready. The idea of motherhood did not frighten me anymore. I began to quietly prepare myself.
The signs were there: mood swings, tenderness, fatigue. Everything seemed to align, except for the test result. It was negative.
My period was three days late, and I began to feel miserable. My husband was far away for work, and I missed him terribly. I was too afraid to take even a single paracetamol for my headache, worried it might harm the “baby.”
One night, I dreamed vividly of visiting an obstetrician and seeing a small heartbeat on the screen. It felt real enough to make my heart ache when I woke up. For three days, I lived in that uncertain space between hope and reality—convinced that I might already be a mother.
Then, my period came. Heavy and certain.
A strange emptiness followed. There was never a baby, yet I felt a quiet grief, as if something precious had slipped away before it began.
Somehow, that fleeting hope changed something in me. I found myself wishing, perhaps for the first time, that it would happen.
Somehow, I realised that I wanted to become a mother.
Leenana's Writing 