A Woman of Weight and Wings

There are mornings when I wake up with the weight already pressing against my chest, as if responsibilities arrive before I even open my eyes. It is not the kind of heaviness that can be shrugged off like a bad dream; it is real, solid, undeniable. It lives in my bones, in my thoughts, in the endless list of what I must do, who I must be, how I must show up.

But alongside this weight, invisible yet powerful, there are also wings. They are delicate but unbreakable, soft but certain, fragile in appearance but faithful in strength. The weight keeps me on the ground; the wings remind me I am not meant to stay there forever.

I did not always know how to name these two forces. For a long time, I thought the heaviness meant I was somehow behind, somehow less free than others. I thought the responsibilities that arrived early in my life were an unfair portion that kept me from moving like others did. But now I see differently. The weight has shaped me, disciplined me, carved me into someone who knows how to endure. And the wings — oh, the wings — they are what keep me dreaming, reaching, believing in the unseen. Together, they make me whole.

Born Between Two Worlds

I was born in Jakarta, a city that never pauses long enough for you to catch your breath. Its rhythm is constant, impatient, urgent. Jakarta raised me in fire — in the speed of ambition, in the language of progress, in the belief that if you want to matter, you must move quickly. But my story is not only Jakarta’s. My roots run deeper, across seas and into the rugged land of Flores, where the soil carries the memory of ancestors, where the cattle roam with dignity, where the ocean’s voice is a lullaby and a warning at once. Flores grounded me, reminded me that the earth does not rush, that roots take time, that legacy is not built in an instant but in seasons.

To be a daughter of both places is to live with contradiction: fire and earth, speed and stillness, ambition and responsibility. And it is this contradiction that taught me the language of weight and wings. In Jakarta, I learned to fly; in Flores, I learned to carry. And somewhere in the middle, I became myself.

The School of Responsibility

Responsibility arrived in my life earlier than I expected. Not because I was forced, but because I chose to. Being the breadwinner of my family is not a story of pity — it is a story of pride. It is dignity to provide, it is honour to build, it is holy to give. People often ask me if it is hard, and of course, it is. There are days when the weight feels unbearable, when I wonder how much more I can carry. But then I remember: responsibility is not punishment; it is trust. And suddenly, the weight feels different.

This is why I take financial management seriously. Not because I worship it, but because I understand what it can do. Money feeds, protects, builds, expands. It gives dignity where there was shame. It creates stability where there was chaos. For me, finance is not greed; it is stewardship. It is my way of honouring the lives connected to mine. Each calculation, each plan, each protection is not abstract; it is a life, a family, a dream preserved.

Ambition, Love, and Faith

But beyond survival, there is ambition. And my ambition has always stretched beyond myself. I dream not only for me but for my land, for my people, for my country. I dream of NTT no longer seen as a margin but as a source — a place that provides, that leads, that shapes the nation’s food and politics. I dream of our cattle standing as symbols of strength, of our farmers being honoured, of our soil being respected. I dream of Labuan Bajo not consumed by careless tourism, but preserved through sustainability, standing as a global model of how beauty can be protected, not destroyed. I dream of Komodo not as a spectacle, but as a subject worthy of reverence. These are not small dreams. They are heavy. They demand everything of me. But the wings in me remind me they are possible.

And then, there is love. I used to think love would be a weight — something that distracts, diverts, diminishes. But instead, I found love that expands. To be with a man who loves me deeply and to love him in return has not made me smaller; it has made me braver. Love does not clip my wings; it strengthens them. Love does not increase my burden; it teaches me how to carry with more grace. As I prepare to marry, I do not think of endings but of beginnings. Marriage is not a finish line; it is a foundation. It is the ground on which we will build more — more dreams, more service, more legacy.

But none of this — not the weight, not the wings, not the ambition, not the love — makes sense without faith. Faith is the thread that weaves it all together. When the weight is too heavy, faith whispers that I am not alone. When the wings feel too fragile, faith becomes the wind that lifts them higher. My story is not my own. It is God’s story through me. I am not here to save the world; I am here to be available. To let His work flow through my imperfect hands, my cracked heart, my restless mind. If people see hope in me, it is not because I am extraordinary, but because God is visible in the very places I feel weakest.

This is womanhood as I have come to know it: not either/or, but both/and. I am both strong and soft, both ambitious and nurturing, both grounded and soaring. Society often tries to make us choose, to put us in boxes too small for our souls. But I refuse. I am all of it. And in being all of it, I hope to give permission for others to be the same.

Legacy Is Now

Legacy is not something I wait for at the end of my life. It is something I live now. It is in every choice I make, every business I build, every person I serve, every prayer I whisper, every risk I take. Legacy is present tense. And if there is one truth I hope my life will prove, it is that carrying weight does not cancel your wings — it strengthens them.

So here I am, at the beginning of this journey of sharing more openly, more honestly. A woman of weight and wings, still learning, still becoming, still building.

I am Carolina,

and I am building a legacy.