I build systems. Some are digital. Some are physical. Both have a way of surprising you when they stop working.
I lead Suitmedia, a digital consulting company based in Jakarta. I studied Informatics Engineering at ITB and later moved to South Korea for an MBA at KAIST.
I also run long races in the mountains because, for reasons I still can’t fully defend, it makes life feel more honest.
Code came first.
I liked how clean it was. Something failed, so you looked for the cause. You fixed it. The problem didn’t take it personally.
I don’t write code every day now, but the habit stayed. I still ask the same questions, just in different rooms:
What’s the real problem? Where is the bottleneck? What are we pretending not to see?
Then business taught me mess.
Moving from Indonesia to South Korea for business school was exciting. It was also lonely in the way big changes often are.
I learned that good decisions rarely arrive wrapped in certainty. People do not behave like functions. Teams do not act like neat systems. Markets do not wait for you to feel ready.
Leadership often means choosing a direction before the evidence is complete—and creating enough clarity for other people to move with you.
So I learned to work with ambiguity. To listen longer. To choose a direction, then commit.
Today, I lead at Suitmedia.
We work with large brands across Indonesia and Southeast Asia. We help them turn strategy into digital products, services, and experiences that people actually use.
The work moves fast. It asks for judgment more than genius. It rewards clarity, not drama.
It also gives you daily chances to be wrong in public, which is excellent for character. Allegedly.
Then I found the trails.
Running started as exercise. A simple plan for a busy life. One foot, then the other.
It grew. Marathons came first—Tokyo, Bandung, and a few others. The finish lines felt like small miracles.
Then the road began to feel too polite. I wanted dirt. I wanted hills. I wanted the kind of effort that leaves no room for pretending.
Ultra-trail running gave me that. It introduced me to a more direct conversation with myself.
In 2025, I took on three 100K mountain races in eight weeks.
BDG Ultra gave me mud and doubt. Trans Jeju by UTMB gave me sharp rock and wind. BTS Ultra gave me cold, dust, and the strange experience of negotiating with my own mind like it was a stubborn colleague who had refused to read the brief.
I finished. Not gracefully. Not heroically. Just stubbornly, step by step.
Somewhere between the climbs, the cramps, and the quiet stretches where your thoughts finally stop shouting, I remembered something I keep forgetting in daily life:
You don’t win by being fearless. You win by staying present—eating when you should, moving when you can, resting when you must, and refusing to turn a hard moment into a final verdict.
The mountains teach simple lessons. Pace matters. Ego is expensive. Panic is rarely useful.
Fix small problems early. Keep moving without making it a performance. Enjoy the view, but don’t expect the view to make the climb easy.
I try to give back.
Education opened doors for me. It changed what I could imagine for my own life.
So I volunteer with programs that support students in Indonesia.
It’s not complicated. I’ve been helped. I want to help. That’s the loop I want to live in.
This blog is my campfire.
A place to share what I’m learning about leadership, technology, work, and endurance.
Some posts will be practical. Some will be personal. A few may be me laughing at myself after a lesson I should have learned the first time.
I’ll write about building teams, making decisions under uncertainty, designing better systems, staying useful when things get difficult, and finding the patience to take the next step.
Thanks for stopping by. Stay awhile.
Then go build something, climb something, or take the next step—especially on the days you don’t feel like it.