A Room with A View

There is something quietly humbling about working in a room with a view. From the window of my office, on one of the higher floors in Jakarta, the city stretches wide. When guests visit, they often pause. They turn their eyes to the horizon, smile, and say, “What a beautiful view.” Their words remind me not to take this for granted.

Strangely, I was also reminded of this while watching a Korean drama, Trigger. In one scene, a journalist pleaded with his editor for a workspace with a window, promising to deliver stories that would capture the public’s attention in return. It struck me: he longed for the view so much that he was ready to do whatever it took—right or wrong—to secure a promotion and a workspace with that beautiful window. That small moment lingered in me.

Then I thought—how fortunate I am. My daily desk already comes with a view, one that others would dream of, one that strangers remark upon with admiration. It is more than just scenery; it is a quiet grace, a reminder that I am entrusted with something larger than myself.

A view can change how we see our own work. It lifts the mind above the weight of routine, allowing us to breathe and remember that our tasks are not only about deadlines and documents but about serving people, about shaping the future of this country. From this room with a view, I hold both the privilege and the responsibility to do my work well—for the citizens whose lives are touched, even if faintly, by the plans and decisions made here.

And so, whenever I look outside, I try to remind myself: beauty is not only to be admired but also to be honored, through effort, through integrity, and through dedication.