Category: Life Updates

[A Running Log]: Week 2

Eva NurwitaLeave a comment

I don’t run every day; I only do 3-4 times a week. I never intended to do serious running; it was a whim. One Saturday, realizing that I had put on some serious weight out of stress last year, I figured I needed to use the weekend to move my body. Didit came up with this crazy idea to walk 6 KM, and I had never walked that far before. The morning was subdued by grey clouds–I was worried it would rain. He said, “If it rains, we’ll grab a cab and return”. I looked up, and it was very cloudy with a chance of serious meatballs, so I reckoned I didn’t have to walk that far. However, lo and behold, as we passed our first kilometre, no rain showed up. I had never walked around on Saturday morning; all I wanted to do was curl up with my book in a cafe somewhere. Now that my nose was not buried among pages of books, I saw quite a lot of people running at MY PACE. So I was not that slow, I’m just stupid.

I ended up Forrest Gump-ed it. “RUN, EVA RUN!” I had not run for quite a while; my knees, my ankle, my lungs, my whole body felt like they were going to disintegrate by the next step. I had no proper training, pfft, no proper warm-up. My first day of running was a happy disaster. IT WAS MY FIRST 6K!!! (I, of course, was unable to walk the next day). But it hadn’t stopped me from continuing. I did not know why, I even tried the evening one, where the weather is heavy with pollution, and I feel like the whole world is just a big heated pilates room. Didit lent me his watch because I do not have a smart watch. I was so surprised that I achieved pace 7+ for my 5K. Huh, it was not bad at all. I mocked people who run as I did, those who begin at 5:30 AM, and I am one of those people now. I am out by 5:30, arrived home by 6.30 ish, and I already have my first cup of coffee.

By my fourth day running, I decided to ditch the smart watch. I hate looking up at the watch during the run, and I hate worrying about my pace. Those fancy metrics mean something, I am sure. But it steals my joy of running. As metrics no longer mattered to me, I now run for the distance. I questioned myself, what made me run at 5:30 no matter what, even if it is raining, I am out there. I was so surprised, who is this girl?!

As usual, to be immersed in this new interest. I picked a book about running. No. I did not read it to find some theory about running; my form needed improvement, but I don’t think I would fix it by reading a book. I want to read what people think when they are running. I don’t believe people run to flesh out their inner pain. I believe people run to heal their inner pain. Guess what? Haruki Murakami wrote a memoir about running, which is amazing and confirms my suspicions. He wrote:

… As I run, I don’t think much of anything worth mentioning. I just run. I just run in a void. Or maybe, I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void

That’s exactly how I feel about running; I enjoyed running by myself. Sometimes I even turned off the music, I don’t want to think; I need that void. Just me, the sound of my almost collapsing but working lungs, and the tap-tap-tap of my feet. My world is loud, my work is literally about yapping and listening carefully to people yapping, which I love–don’t get me wrong. In my break time, I read, just another activity of absorbing other people’s yaps. Running offers me a sanctuary of silence, a peace. Where I can simultaneously realize how weak I am, and how amazing these mechanics of our body are. How they were created so elaborately in painstaking detail. I found God in my running thoughts. God — and how upsetting an uneven pavement is for my ankles.

Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.

A mantra I kept telling myself before my mind decided to stop, maybe just a little bit longer, look until the next person passes us–ah, a way to finally trick the ego as a revenge for their daily bullies on us.

Some additional notes: I love honey and salt as fuel for my morning run. I also think that the running vest is an amazing invention (And the soft flask!). I love bringing my Kindle along so that when I stop at a coffee shop, I can read something. I don’t see many people running for speed in my neighbourhood, which is nice. I also saw more people running in groups. I love running in the rain, but it would be stupid to do it too often. Sleeping really defines the quality of my run; one hour short of sleep meant everything. The functional training works with running and even makes it better. I really want to one day be able to do a half-marathon.

I Begin With Understanding

Eva NurwitaLeave a comment

In the past five months, I have learned a great deal more about life than I had in all the years before. This flood of knowledge has brought a profound change within me, leading to an extraordinary transformation that extends to how I see myself, how I treat others, how I view the way business should be done, and, most importantly, how to be human. 

I judged myself as someone who had failed miserably at building a business. For a long time, I thought I built Vizier simply because I needed a way to live, a way to survive—and yes, it has been a great one. But as time went on, I started to feel this deep urge to build more, to achieve more, and to grow bigger. What began as a side hustle slowly turned into a viable institution, with real responsibilities. Today, it’s a home for five people on my team, and together we’ve worked on so many projects. Our branding pillars stand firm. I know what this institution values, and live by them. For me, “stability” was always the guiding word. But suddenly, without planning it, the word “upscale” took its place. That shift surprised me, but it also excited me. Still, when I look back at my hiring decisions, the capital people poured in to help me, all in the name of stability—I can see how much of it ended in failure. These were lessons I had to learn the hard way. The truth is, I knew nothing about business beyond branding (the surface-level stuff). And that ignorance made me so afraid of risk. In some ways, I’m still that person—still cautious, still fearful. But at least now I understand where I stand, and who I am in this journey.

My purpose in writing this post is for those who come here curious about how I navigated failure and what I am doing now to try to do things better. If you’re here to find out whether my attempts have worked or not, I have to be honest: I can’t give you that answer. I don’t know if this attempt will count as progress. But I do know that taking this step is, without doubt, a significant part of my growth.

Lesson #1: I Understand Now that Building the Business Cannot Be Without Building its People

I realized my past mistakes: I had hired capable people. I looked at their CV and was awed by their impressive numbers and the fantastic job descriptions of their past work. I called them for an interview, felt a match, and directly hired them. Found out that I was not satisfied with their work, and kicked them after probation, or kicked them too long for the leeching on my budget. To be honest, writing this made me upset at myself. Here are things that I did wrong:

  • I had hired entirely based on CV and interview. I saw a match, NOT a fit. My shortcoming was judging them as capable from the onset of our first meeting. I was not being critical—people can write whatever in their resume, but I failed to question how they achieved it. I was transforming myself into a results-oriented boss, rather than a process-oriented mentor. See, this is why this is my biggest mistake. When it comes to work, the process and the attention to detail are what define success in Vizier. We deal with people; our sales are about making them trust our services and showing them the process. I fatally hired people who sold results and were incapable of explaining the process. It’s like I was seeking people to sell the ice cream machine, but ended up hiring someone who sold the ice cream itself.
  • Once they were onboarded, I forgot to give them space to grow. During their probation, I let them figure things out on their own, making this their first (and biggest) test. This was wrong. Their biggest test should have been after they understood their full responsibility, grasped the stated goals, were provided with sufficient company foundations, and, if needed, received skill onboarding. They should then have been given specific KPIs to achieve. I should have been there as a railing, as guiding hands. Instead, I was setting them up to fail from the beginning. To grow, a plant needs water (as a means of external capital) and pressure (as a means of internal motivation)–I was not providing both.
  • I took too long to let go. I made the decision to hire too personally; I believed that if they failed, it meant I had failed. But that’s not true. In some cases, people are simply not who we are looking for. Their failure may be a lesson for my hiring decisions, but it is not a fixed proof of whether I am right or wrong. In some cases, people do take advantage of us or take their work for granted, and when that continues even after we’ve given feedback, nudges, and help, the sooner we let them go, the better it is for the business.

What I am trying to do now is not repeat the above mistakes and maintain this realization in every one of my current hiring and onboarding decisions. I also have to constantly remember that my team members are human first before they are my team members.

Lesson #2: I Understand Now That I Cannot Lead Without Knowing Who I Am

I thought I knew myself. I had gone through difficult experiences in life that I believed had uncovered who I am. But it turns out that was only a small slice of me. Knowing that I am resilient and that I work well under pressure does not mean I truly understand myself. Real understanding doesn’t start from the good things—it begins with facing the darker side of me. My fears and how those fears create limiting beliefs that shape my behavior.

At the beginning of this year, I was fortunate enough to be introduced to the people at Talentbox. They embraced me like family. I had the chance to facilitate some of their training, and in return, they gave me a workshop that allowed me to have a deep conversation with myself. In this workshop, I interviewed the people closest to me and asked for their feedback. From that feedback, I was able to define my biggest current challenge. Not only did I learn how this challenge limits me, but I also discovered how to face the next fear that might emerge as I continue to grow. I have so many thoughts about this workshop, but I’ll save those for a separate post.

What I realized was a stark truth about why I keep having similar communication problems with my team. Why I resist feedback, and why my own feedback to others has often been ineffective. These problems aren’t just about techniques—they come from within. I wondered how I had managed people all this time without truly understanding myself: how I communicate, what my preferences are, how I work, and what blind spots I carry. No wonder it always felt chaotic. As I began to work through these patterns, I found myself less consumed by constant troubleshooting. And with that, I gained more space to think about my goals, the business’s goals, and the essential components of building Vizier.

Lesson #3: I Understand Now That Being Assertive Helps A LOT

Laugh at me if you want, but yes—if I can avoid conflict and make people happy, I will. If I can say something that makes a bad situation sound lighter, even when it’s actually vital information to hear, I usually will. I hate to admit this, but I grew up around loud, angry people, and the thought of putting myself back in the middle of that kind of situation is something I would rather avoid.

However, I’ve also learned that this habit makes my voice shaky and untrustworthy. People often feel the need to double-check my words from different angles, and I don’t like that. It takes real courage for me to step away from this pattern, to say what’s on my mind clearly, and at the same time remain empathetic.

When I dug deeper into the reason, I found that I often put myself in other people’s shoes too much. I project my own fears onto them, which ultimately creates more chaos than clarity. If I’m afraid someone can’t take my feedback, then I act in a way that shows I don’t believe they’re capable of working with me. And because of that, eventually, they can’t. 

Now, I’m learning to break that cycle. I may not always get it right, but I’ve become more confident in voicing my thoughts—even when it leads to conflict, or sometimes creates more problems. Because I’d love how it feels for the long run, honest communication builds trust, and that is worth the discomfort.

In the end, I see this season as a chapter of growth. I am learning that building a business is not just about strategies, numbers, or even people—it starts with me. The more I understand myself, the more space I have to guide Vizier with clarity and purpose. I don’t have all the answers yet, and maybe I never will, but I know that every step, every lesson, and every challenge is shaping me into the kind of leader who can build something that truly lasts.

On Self Respect

Eva NurwitaLeave a comment

One day, I came home clutching a math paper marked 3 out of 10. To my young mind, it felt like the world was crashing down around me. I knew I had to get the paper signed by my parents, or my teacher would call them, and it would bear more significant consequences. That paper felt like a ticking time bomb, and I clung to it like it was my lifeline. As panic took over, I crumpled it tightly, my sweaty palms smearing the pencil marks into a dull, grey blur. Hours passed in dread, and when my father finally arrived home, he was greeted by the sight of my tear-streaked face and the sad, crumpled mess of that paper. He didn’t raise his voice or scold me (which is scarier). Instead, he sat down beside me, and that evening, we had a conversation—a conversation that would go on to define something significant in my life.

When my father asked why I had scored so poorly, I replied hesitantly, barely above a whisper, “This part of the material is challenging. I can’t understand anything it’s trying to teach me.” He frowned, puzzled. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed help? We could’ve gotten a tutor or worked on it together.”

Staring at the crumpled paper, I muttered, “I didn’t have the time. The day before the exam, I was too tired to study; I came home late after playing with my friends.” He responded firmly, “Eva, we don’t have the privilege of time.”

I stared at him, confused by his words. Sensing my uncertainty, he softened and added, “For people like us, time is incredibly precious, and we are only borrowing it.”

Borrowing The Time

When I typed this blog, it was 3 a.m. on the night of Isra Mi’raj commemoration. This night has special meaning for my family. We do not reflect on our life purpose during the first of January; it is during this night.

When Prophet Muhammad ﷺ ascended to meet God, he had just endured one of the most challenging years of his life—and the lives of his followers. He had lost his beloved wife and uncle, and he faced extreme-relentless persecution. Not only did he bear these personal trials, but he also witnessed the same suffering inflicted on those who placed their trust in him. In that era, people could not simply escape persecution. Most lacked the means of long-distance transportation and lived in the same place from the moment they were born until the day they died. During this sacred night, when his heart was heaviest, God granted him the miraculous journey of Isra Mi’raj. This was a divine recognition—a medal of honor and a seal of completion for him and his companions after such immense trials—and an act of unparalleled mercy.

Yet, the significance of this night extends beyond that. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ ascended with one condition: that his ummah would share in the benefits of his journey. In this grand meeting, God gifted Muslims the five daily prayers—a direct connection to Him, a spiritual lifeline accessible to us in the intimacy of our own homes. But to me, the main story is not about the prayers; it is about the hope that, to achieve growth, I must endure trials that provide the opportunity for elevation. This brought me to the meaning of this year’s Isra Wal Mi’raj commemoration. I’m still working on applying this meaning, but in light of Isra Mi’raj, I want to make self-respect the guiding principle for my actions this year.

Self Respect

I define self-respect as an act that shows a true understanding the price of everything, the value of being alive, cared for, and blessed.

Joan Didion wrote in her essay:

In brief, people with self-respect exhibit a certain toughness, a kind of moral nerve; they display what was once called character,a quality which, although approved in the abstract, sometimes loses ground to other, more instantly negotiable virtues. 

In Hidden Potential, Adam Grant explains that character determines success and is a learned capacity to live by our principles. This quality equips individuals to achieve seemingly impossible goals. Echoing Joan Didion, Grant highlights that character includes discipline, determination, and proactiveness. Developing these traits often requires embracing discomfort as part of achieving intangible comforts. For me, self-respect—the foundation of these traits—determines whether we grow into tall, flourishing character trees or remain stunted and stuck.

Self-respect means seeing every aspect of life as essential and treating each one as something that can contribute to our growth and success. It’s about being mindful of the choices we make and the habits we form. 

For instance, I want to take better care of myself. I’ve realized I haven’t been doing well with my body. I’ve gained weight, fallen back into unhealthy habits, and lacked a consistent workout routine. My lifestyle has been, at best, sedentary. And no, this isn’t a matter of limitation or lack of time—it’s a clear example of misplaced self-respect. 

I also want to be more mindful of what I consume. I’d like to reduce my habit of watching mindless horror movies (or any pseudo-porn masquerading as a Netflix must-watch). I will steer clear of contemporary romance books, sad stories, and too much thriller. These choices do not align with the values I want to cultivate—neither challenge my mind nor contribute to my growth. Instead, they leave me feeling empty, offering little more than a fleeting distraction.

Waking up early is a form of self-respect, as is getting enough sleep, eating cleaner, and maintaining a regular workout routine. Picking up my own mess is an act of self-respect, as is not leaving things on the floor or neglecting to care for my belongings, especially when in someone else’s space.  Self-respect is a sign that I value myself and will value others. Telling people that I genuinely can’t do something because I am already overwhelmed is self-respect, as is doing something important even though I am not in the mood.

Setting boundaries and honoring my commitments to myself are forms of self-respect. Working on the difficult essay, studying for the GRE, and enduring the painful scholarship process—because I promised myself I would—without constantly retreating into countless “healing” breaks is self-respect.

Saying no to people-pleasing is self-respect, as is stepping up to meet responsibilities even when they feel daunting. Keeping my space organized and intentional is self-respect, as is making time to do the things that bring me joy and fulfillment. Self-respect reflects how much I care about my well-being and how much I am willing to show up for others healthily.

Self-respect is not about being comfortable; it will usually challenge me to move out of my comfort zone. This discomfort is where growth begins. Self-respect often asks me to face truths I’d rather ignore, make choices that require discipline, and embrace the vulnerability of not having all the answers. It’s about choosing the more challenging but meaningful path, prioritizing long-term growth over immediate gratification. 

Improvement should center on the core value of self-respect—not rooted in pride or the desire to appear different, but in a genuine commitment to growth. It means being willing to be misunderstood on this path, letting go of self-judgment, and holding tightly to discipline.

When You Know A Circle Is Your Circle

Eva NurwitaLeave a comment

I wasn’t someone who had many friends growing up. Being the eldest daughter in my family didn’t afford me the freedom to be out and about making friends (and maintaining them). My early school days revolved around getting good grades, attending extensive after-school courses, and teaching my younger brothers how to write “apple” in a legible way (A hellish daily filler because brothers tend not to listen to their elder sister). My truest companions were the books my parents bought for me—companions that thankfully grew into a lifelong passion I still cherish today.

I didn’t quite understand what genuine friendship looked like, I was bullied since day one at school. My chairmate took every of my school equipments, I walked home with an empty bag but books. During my teenage years, I lost friends to drugs, tragic traffic accidents, and reckless hobbies. I had a small circle of friendship that I thought would last forever, because we had a “splendid” time in high school. However, we eventually surrendered to the way the adulthood separated us. As I grew older, I fell in love for good friends who turned into my worst enemies, or worse—strangers. And when that wasn’t the case, fate had its way of intervening—they passed away too soon.

I didn’t understand companionship; I had always been content doing everything on my own—or eventually doing it on my own in discontent. I had always tried to find this so-called magical companion, the one who would complete the picture I had in my mind. Yet, more often than not, it ended in a bad way. I thought to myself: So, why bother forging friendships? Why invest in something I know is unlikely to last?

Flash Forward to Recently

One rainy May evening, I remember having quite a bad day and was bothered by a financial struggle. However, that night I also had some conversations with my closest friends. It was quite late. We sat in a circle on the carpet, sharing tea and cake. The soothing aroma of rooibos tea and vanilla buttercream cake filled the air, and mingling with the earthy scent of musk. We had nowhere to go, the rain caged us comfortably. As always seemed to happen in this circle, our lighthearted conversation effortlessly turned into something deeper. Someone began by sharing how life had been different before we met, and soon, everyone took turns sharing their own version. There were funny stories that filled the room with laughter, and there were somber tales too—stories that brought tears to the storyteller. In that moment, I felt a sudden and profound sense of wholeness.

On the night like this, I never felt more rich. I had the feeling that I will be alright and everything is more than enough. I had a feeling that this world was within reach, it was irrevocable. If I needed money, I could always get it. I could teach a new class, I could smuggle gold, I could sell prohibited goods, I could sell my kidneys, or I could become a $100 phone sex operator, and none of it would matter. I know with all my heart that the people sitting with me would go to great lengths to support me in times of need, and I am certain they would never abandon me. I had traveled the world searching to feel this whole, to have this unwavering conviction, and I finally found it here—with them.

I Learned My Lesson

In retrospect, I realized that I currated my friendships. I thought that’s what we were supposed to do—choose the “right” people. I avoided anyone I found annoying: those who borrowed books and never returned them, or well— returned them dog-eared. I couldn’t imagine befriending someone who didn’t enjoy reading or share my taste in music. I convinced myself that if I surrounded myself with people who mirrored my interests and preferences, I would find happiness. I believed that companionship was built on perfect similarity.

But then it dawned on me: if this was the foundation of my friendships, if this was all I sought in others, then what I was really trying to do was befriend … myself.

And that realization hit me hard. One, I do not have a good relationship with myself, which becomes the root of this senseless perfectionism.

Two, friendship isn’t about finding clones of myself; it’s about embracing differences, learning from each other, and growing together. The people who shaped me the most weren’t those who shared every interest or trait of mine. They were the ones who challenged my perspective, introduced me to new ideas, and supported me in ways I never anticipated. I was seeking for “the” perfect friendship, but genuinity will never grow where perfection exists. I need to remember this constantly.

I began to see that true companionship isn’t about building a circle of people who reflect my own image but about understanding friction of differences, the give-and-take of disagreements, and the mutual respect despite those disagreements.

Lastly, this is how I know that I have finally found my circle. This is how I know that I am no longer wandering aimlessly, searching for a place to belong. These people, with their quirks, imperfections, and boundless differences, have shown me that true companionship isn’t fleeting—it’s enduring.