The hashtag #KaburAjaDulu has been circulating a lot: an idea that leaving Indonesia is the best way to escape instability, corruption, and economic uncertainty. Many in the diaspora paint a romanticized picture of life abroad: stronger currency, better infrastructure, cleaner air, efficient public transport.
I used to think that too. Until I left.
Now I feel conflicted, because moving abroad is not the easy answer that people think it is.
I live in Berlin, an international city with all the things people say make life abroad better: euro salary, career opportunities, access to nature, and the ability to travel around Europe. On paper, it looks ideal. But deep down, something still feels incomplete.
No matter how long I live here, I will always be an outsider. With the far-right movement growing, that feeling has only intensified. People are polite, but conversations rarely go beyond the surface. “How are you?” is often just a formality, not an invitation to share how I really feel. And while I’ve built a life here, there are moments when I feel a quiet emptiness, a longing I can’t quite fill.
I told Ilham the other day, “I have everything I thought I wanted, but it still feels like something is missing.”
That emptiness isn’t just about adapting to a new culture. A big part of it comes from the helplessness of being far away. Because I am not the kind of person who watches from a distance.
I’ve always been someone who shows up. I remember one time, my best friend texted me saying she was really sick because of her period. I had just arrived at my kosan (boarding house, rented room, whatever the right English word is), exhausted from the day. But without thinking twice, I booked a taxi to her place, took her to the hospital, and sat with her in the ER until midnight, making sure she was okay before heading home. That’s just who I am. If someone I love needs me, I go.
Now? Now I feel helpless.
What if something happens to my family while I’m here?
What if my best friend needs me, and I’m too late?
Distance is no longer just about missing out on birthdays or casual meetups. It‘s about the gut-wrenching reality that if anything were to happen, I wouldn’t be there in time.
In Indonesia, I was always near. If something happened, I could just go. Now, I live with the reality that no matter how much I want to, sometimes I can’t. And that’s a weight I carry every day.
Then there’s my career.
I had a good career in Indonesia. A really good one. When I moved here, I thought it would be sunshine and rainbows. A new adventure, a step forward, a bigger world with more opportunities. But reality hit hard.
I got a job in a big tech company, only to be laid off three months later. When I finally got another offer, they canceled it one week before my start date. Both were from well-known companies, places I thought would give me stability. The disappointment was overwhelming.
I started wondering: What if this was a mistake?
What if I had just stayed in Indonesia?
I never thought I’d feel less secure after moving abroad, but here I am, questioning everything. Questioning whether this was the right choice, questioning if I can rebuild my career the way I planned, questioning how much more uncertainty I can handle.
And it’s not just me. Layoffs are still happening everywhere. People tend to think job security abroad is better, but even until now, tech companies are stillcutting employees, automotive factories are closing down, and entire industries are restructuring. It’s not just the so-called unstable countries that are struggling, job uncertainty is global.
And this is something that people should really think about before following the #KaburAjaDulu mindset. There will be struggles. There will be challenges. Not everything will go according to plan. If you’re thinking of leaving, ask yourself:
• What happens if I get laid off?
• What if I can’t find a job for months?
• Do I have savings to survive?
• Do I have a support system if things get hard?
I’m lucky. When things fell apart, I had Ilham. He supported me through every phase, when I took time off as a stay-at-home wife, when I went to language school, and when I eventually started working again. He gave me the space to figure things out at my own pace.
But what if I didn’t have that?
I know some friends who moved abroad with their families, hoping for a better future. They lasted two years before deciding to return because the reality wasn’t what they expected. They struggled with work, with adapting, with the lack of support. And when things didn’t work out, they had no safety net.
This is what people need to understand: moving abroad is not just about the opportunities. It‘s also about the risks.
In Indonesia, life was simple. We didn’t always do fancy things. Just going to the mall, eating at a restaurant, or hanging out at someone’s house. It wasn’t about where we were, it was about who we were with. The presence of family, of people who have known me for years, made even the smallest moments feel special.
Here, I have Ilham, and I am grateful for him every single day. He is home. He has done everything he can to make me feel comfortable, safe, and loved. When I was sick with Grippe for two weeks, he cooked me porridge, made sure I rested, and took care of me in every way he could. He is the reason I am here, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
But even with Ilham by my side, a part of me still longs for something I left behind. It’s not about choosing one over the other. It‘s about realizing that no matter where I go, there will always be something I miss.
Especially now, during Ramadhan, when my FOMO is at its peak. Seeing my family having buka puasa together, watching people go on spontaneous late-night food runs, feeling the warmth of a community that understands every little tradition without me needing to explain. These moments feel so far away.
Back then, I didn’t leave Indonesia because I hated my life there. I left because I wanted to be with Ilham. And now, I realize something: moving abroad is not the solution for everyone.
Some people thrive in a new country. They love the independence, the career growth, the fresh start. But for others, what makes life meaningful isn’t just opportunity, it’s the connection.
I am a people person. Family and close relationships are a huge part of my identity. And no amount of Western convenience can replace that.
So when I see #KaburAjaDulu, I don’t disagree with those who want to leave. But I want people to know: living abroad is not a universal dream. It is not the key to happiness. It is not a fix-all solution. It is a deeply personal decision that should be based on what you truly value.
At the end of the day, comfort is not just about a stable economy or efficient systems. Comfort is knowing where you belong.
And sometimes, what you were running from wasn’t the problem. You just hadn’t realized what you were leaving behind.
Nisadyr 