Grounded
I am glad I came from a small city.
I am glad I was raised by a middle-class family, went to a middle-class private school nestled in an industrial-residential neighbourhood, and grew up surrounded by a genuinely multicultural community. And I am glad that Mama and Papa are my parents.
Growing up, I always felt enough. I never went hungry. I never felt real discomfort. I got what I needed, and I tried to get what I wanted. Somewhere along the way, maybe from Papa, maybe from the people around me, I picked up a quiet belief: at least you try. I’ve held onto that ever since.
I’m glad I applied for everything I ever wanted. Not everything said 'yes' — but at least I learned how the door works, and enough doors opened to change my life. Coming from a small island, just being in the same room as an anak ibukota already felt like a dream. And then, as someone from Indonesia, finding myself in the same room as people from developed countries or first-world countries felt like a different kind of miracle altogether. I’ve lived both of those dreams now.
What that unlocked was a kind of quiet discipline.
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I’ve merantau on a scholarship. Merantau on my parents’ money. Merantau on income from side projects. And I remember the first time I got a proper job — 15,000 rupiah an hour. I was so happy. Not because of the number, but because I loved what I was doing and I was making my first real, official income. Something I had built myself.
Now I earn £10-£17 an hour. That’s roughly 250,000 to 400,000 rupiah — about 15–30 times what I started with. I don’t say this to be conceited, to boast. I say it because on the days I feel lazy, on the days I’m tired and don’t want to show up, I think back to that version of me who was over the moon at 15,000 rupiah an hour. And suddenly, I’m up.
The geography has shifted too. Jakarta once felt like the summit — just one hour’s flight from Batam, but it felt enormous. Now I’ve stood in Paris. I’ve walked through London. I’ve been in Washington D.C. Each city that once lived only in my imagination has become a memory I actually carry.
And that’s the thing about gratitude, it compounds. The further you travel, the more precisely you can trace back exactly where you started, and feel the full weight of how far each step has carried you.
I don’t take any of it for granted. Every new room I enter, I remember the girl from a small island who just wanted to see what was on the other side.
At least you try. Turns out, that was always enough to begin.
