About Me — A.R. Radjadi
Me, in a nutshell — minus the shell.
Let me give you a glimpse into my world. My mind is rarely still, there’s always something buzzing, brewing, or begging for attention. Silence up there? A myth. It’s more like a crowded train station at rush hour.
By trade, I’m a web designer, an SEO strategist, and a content writer. By heart, I’m also a wife and a mother to two little humans, a curious six-year-old who just wrapped up her homeschool kindergarten, and a four-month-old who’s still figuring out night and day.
I work remotely, juggling tasks and tantrums, deadlines and diaper changes. It’s not exactly calm, think beautifully chaotic, like jazz. Somehow, it all flows.
Feeling overwhelmed? Absolutely. Stressed? On and off. Tired? Always. And sleep? Let’s just say it’s a distant memory at this point.
I’m writing this because it’s the only way to make sense of the chaos in my head is to pour it out. I’ve always loved writing but not the kind that taps on keys, but the kind that scratches ink onto paper. A notebook, the real kind. Pen in hand. No backspace.
But tonight is different. I’m honoring this moment, my very first Medium post, with the same ritual I do before bed: writing down how I feel, unwinding the day, one word at a time. This is me, making space in the noise.
Oh, and you can call me Em. It saves everyone from butchering my real name, unless you’re one of the chosen few who close with me or grew up with me or sat beside me in class.
Em is also the name I give my alter ego: the sassier sidekick to my real-life personality — part introvert, part extrovert, full-time thinker. A soft-spoken environmental nerd with a deep love for wild animals, bookworm, photography lover, and lots of spontaneous ideas.
The 24/7 theme park of thoughts. No closing hours. No quiet corners.
People who’ve had conversations with me often say it feels like thinking out loud, like they’re observing more, noticing more. I guess I tend to draw things a little deeper than the surface.
I’ve always been a reader. It started with Harry Potter back in third grade, 1998, the gateway drug, if you will. Since then, I’ve gravitated toward non-fiction, soaking up ideas, insights, and the occasional existential spiral.
I’m pretty sure this lifelong reading habit has a lot to do with the endless traffic jam in my mind.
I think it’s time I organize my thoughts better — maybe then I wouldn’t jump around so much in conversations.
My professional life as a web designer, an SEO strategist, and a writer.
I still remember the moment I stumbled into web design — it was sometime during my sophomore year of university. I was majoring in computer science, a field that never quite felt like mine. In fact, I hated it.
But in the quiet rebellion of exploring design, I found something that sparked joy: the freedom to create, to shape ideas into visuals, to make the digital feel human.
What started as a web design experiment quickly turned into a full-blown SEO rabbit hole when I began taking on client work in 2012.
One site led to another, and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in meta tags, backlinks, and keyword strategies — all while learning how to write content that both very important for humans and search engine could love.
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Between all the hats I’ve worn, SEO and writing are still my favorites. There’s just something addictive about decoding algorithms by day and crafting compelling stories by night.
Living my story in the land of the Samurai.
Not long after we got married, I packed my bags and moved to the land of the Samurai — the country my husband has called home for most of his life.
Our story began in 2006, and like many great modern love stories, ours was a long-distance one: Indonesia to Japan, thousands of miles apart, stitched together by midnight calls and tearful airport goodbyes. We tied the knot in 2014, and I’ve been living in Japan ever since.
It’s been a decade now — and Japan has reshaped me in more ways than I can count. Its culture is layered, its society beautifully intricate, and its traditions run deep. The way this country blends order with subtle rebellion, silence with meaning, tradition with hyper-modern life — it’s unlike anywhere else.
Japan hasn’t only become home — it’s been a quiet revolution in how I see the world.
Through my lens, I see stories the eye might miss — and that’s where my love for photography lives.
When I first arrived in Japan, the world around me felt like a living postcard — every corner a story, every detail impossibly charming, every moment worth keeping.
I found myself wanting to freeze it all, to hold onto the beauty before it slipped past. That was 2015, the year I fell in love with street photography.
Photography slows the world for me.
In a place that moves with quiet urgency, it teaches me to pause, to see, to notice the details that live between heartbeats — a glance, a shadow, a fleeting smile from a stranger. Through the lens, I learned to be more present, and in turn, more grateful.
It’s more than a hobby. It’s a quiet obsession — the kind that fills me with the same rush every time I step out, camera in hand, ready to chase light and chance.
I work mostly with film, both 35mm and medium format. My Nikon F3, Zorki 4K, and Zenza Bronica S2A carry the weight of my stories. For digital work, I rely on a Sony a6000 — an older model, but solid and dependable, like a trusted friend.
And that’s a little window into my world.
Looking back, I see my life as pieces of curiosity, chaos, and quiet stitched together across time zones.
From the crowded train of thoughts in my head, to the click of a shutter on a Tokyo street, to the slow unfolding of love across continents — every fragment has shaped me.
Japan didn’t just change my address; it changed my pace, my perspective, and the way I hold onto moments.
In the end, my work, my writing, and my photography are all the same act in different forms: slowing down to notice.
To honor the details that most people rush past. To tell a story, whether in pixels, paragraphs, or frames of film. And if you’ve read this far, maybe you’ve walked a few steps with me — seeing not just who I am, but the world as I’ve come to see it.
