The Cheater in Us
The year was 2017, and I was a freelance Regional Account Manager for an international augmenting data intelligence company. I had just finished a long-ass meeting with C-levels somewhere in central Jakarta and asked for a break. I headed to the bathroom to take a deep breath and calm myself down.
I chose one of the nearest bathroom booths from the entrance and sat there for a full five minutes, trying to ease the trembling in my hands. Long-ass business meetings were never easy to cope with, especially knowing there were still more engagements ahead. You can feel your energy draining, your body wanting to give up, but your brain keeps telling you to hold on—sending warnings, reminders, and sticky notes about what’s next.
Then I heard someone crying—no, sobbing hard. The building wasn’t some old, creepy place with urban ghost stories. It was new, as far as I can remember. But I still recall the sobs because they were so heartbreaking.
I got up, opened the door, and looked for the source of those sobs. It came from the last booth. I looked down and saw a pair of gorgeous black killer heels. I knocked a couple of times.
“Hey, are you okay?”
The sobs stopped and turned into snorting.
“Yeah, sorry, I thought I was alone here. Hold on, let me flush first.”
Then out came this beautiful woman, older than me, wearing a light purple blouse, red lipstick, a tight high-waist black skirt, and those killer heels. I still think they were Louboutin or Gucci.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“My husband cheated on me. I just found out…”
She cried again, trying to cover her mouth, stuttering, and shaking her head. I didn’t know what to do. We were complete strangers, but I hugged her. I let her cry, sob, and soak my white blouse for the next ten minutes. Every time someone entered the bathroom, I gestured with my free hand for them to leave as quickly as possible. I acted like I was her colleague or even her friend.
When she finally stopped crying, I felt my phone vibrating a few times, but I didn’t want to leave her yet. She washed her hands and tried to fix her makeup, which was a failed effort. Her eyeliner was smeared, and her mascara was nearly gone… but how was her lipstick still intact? Great lipstick, though. Too bad I didn’t ask the brand.
“What would you do if you were me? If you found out your husband cheated on you?” she asked, still trying to fix her makeup.
“I’m not—”
“Just answer me, as an adult woman,” she commanded. Wow. She sounded like one of my ex-bad-ass bosses. I liked her immediately.
“From your appearance, I assume you have a great career and a steady income. Women like us usually have the same problem: romantic relationships. Men with power are common, but women with power? We’re a ticking time bomb. There will come a day when our partners can’t handle our professional success.”
“But he said he wasn’t jealous of my career. He’s been so supportive. I even helped him pay our mortgage.”
“Hey, I’m not trying to rationalize or pick sides. You asked me a question, and I’m just trying to answer it.”
“I did cheat on him.”
I felt like a Koi fish when she said that—mouth open, then closed, over and over, trying to get more air.
“I cheated on him with my career. It’s been all about work, never about us. Maybe that’s why we don’t have kids after five years of marriage.”
She dried her hands with tissues and left the bathroom without saying anything else. I went back to my meeting and asked to leave early because I couldn’t process what had just happened.
Why do I still remember this encounter after eight years? Because of the main topic: CHEATING. Infidelity in marriage is one of the most common problems I’ve heard about, not just in my circle of friends but in society. And it’s not just in marriage—it happens in professional life too.
We’re all cheaters, to some extent. I cheated during school exams, got caught during brainstorming sessions, and even tried to cheat on an ex once. I ain’t no saint.
There’s an Indonesian saying: “Cobaannya laki-laki itu: Harta, Tahta, Wanita.” Roughly translated: “Men’s guilty pleasures are Money, Power, and Women.” When I first heard that, I thought it was sexist—because it only mentioned men. What about women?
Then I learned: that when women gain power, they don’t need much else. With power, money and men come along without them even asking. Women essentially rule the world by simply having power. I’ve met more than ten women like that, and they’re all badasses. I look up to them, no questions asked.
Being a cheater is hard, I suppose, because it requires constant time and task management. Stacking lies upon lies to keep the cheating alive—it’s hard work. And I don’t like working hard anymore.
So when a friend cheated on his wife, I confronted him and told him to come clean. Or when a colleague tried to cheat on her husband with another coworker, I reminded her, “Don’t shit where you eat.”
I’ve cheated on concerts with scooter rides around Bali. I’ve cheated on Muay Thai with work projects. I’ve cheated on sleep with Netflix binges. I’ve cheated on socializing by staring at the ceiling for hours. I’ve cheated on my consciousness with procrastination. So yeah, I’m a cheater. No saint at all.
Maybe the thrill of cheating is the reason we do it. Maybe we secretly like it—or even love it.
I’ve cheated on concerts with scooter rides around Bali. I’ve cheated on Muay Thai with work projects. I’ve cheated on sleep with Netflix binges. I’ve cheated on socializing by staring at the ceiling for hours. I’ve cheated on my consciousness with procrastination. So yeah, I’m a cheater. No saint at all.
Maybe the thrill of cheating is the reason we do it. Maybe we secretly like it—or even love it.
I never saw that beautiful woman in killer heels again. We passed each other in the lobby once or twice. I wanted to say hi, but the look on her face told me not to. Still, I’m forever grateful for that encounter. It taught me a valuable lesson.
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