Between Two Worlds: Finding Home in Qatar as an Indonesian Expat

"For most people, home is where their roots are. For me, home has always been where my life is - and that's Qatar."

Introduction: Between two worlds

Growing up in Qatar, I always felt more at home in the desert than I ever did in Indonesia. The golden dunes, the towering skylines and the sound of the call to prayer in every direction were the backdrop of my childhood - a rhythm I knew by heart. In contrast, every visit to Indonesia felt like stepping into an unfamiliar world, where the streets, the languages, and even the expectations seemed foreign to me. I often felt like a tourist rather than a local, disconnected from a culture I was supposed to call my own. 

Growing up between two cultures has often made me question where I truly belong. While I've always identified as Indonesian, it's Qatar that feels like home. It's here, in a land far from my roots that I've found comfort, acceptance and connection. Growing up between these two worlds has shaped not only how I see myself but also how I navigate the complexities of identity and belonging. 

The Struggle Of Feeling Like A Stranger In My Homeland

Every visit to Indonesia felt like a reunion with strangers, The streets bustled with sights and sounds I vaguely recognized but couldn't fully grasp - vendors shouting in a slang-heavy Indonesian I didn't understand, neighbours chatting with warmth that felt just out of reach. I remember visiting a family gathering where everyone seemed to speak in rapid, animated bursts of Bahasa. Though I could follow parts of the conversation - the jokes, the proverbs and the cultural references flew over my head. I laughed along politely but deep down, I felt like an outsider looking in. 

When I was younger, I spoke so much Bahasa Indonesia that it felt like second nature to me. I'd chat with my parents, play with cousins, and even argue in Bahasa, without a second thought. But as I grew older, the words started to fade, slipping through my fingers like sand. Every time someone would say something in Indonesian, I'd find myself hesitating, unsure if I knew the right answer. "What does that mean?" I'd ask, hoping someone could explain. But instead of a simple answer, my relatives would chuckle and say, "How do you not know that? You're Indonesian!" Their laughter wasn't unkind, but it stung all the same, as if I was expected to remember things that had slowly disappeared from my memory.

The disconnect wasn't just in the language---it extended to the traditions too. My parents both spoke Bahasa Jawa, a language that felt like a link to my deeper roots. But despite their fluency, they never taught me, leaving me to grow up with no understanding of it. I would hear snippets of it between them, a secret code that always felt out of reach.

When it came to questions about culture or customs, I often found myself pausing before responding. Someone would ask, "How do you say this in Indonesian?" or "What do you think of this tradition?" and I'd feel a wave of uncertainty wash over me. I wasn't sure what the "right" answer was anymore, caught between the version of Indonesian culture I'd learned from my family and the reality of a life spent so far away.

Each time I hesitated, it was like another reminder that I wasn't fully connected to the culture I was supposed to belong to. My relatives would poke fun, but their teasing made it clear: I no longer fit into a culture I once felt so close to. It wasn't just the language that had slipped away---it was a part of my identity, one I didn't even realize I was losing until I found myself unable to reconnect.

Finding Comfort in Qatar: A Place of Belonging

The streets of Qatar were my compass, etched into my memory like a map I never needed to unfold. From the towering skyline of West Bay to the quiet sandy stretches of the Corniche, every corner carried the rhythm of a life I had always known. School wasn't just a place of learning - it was a world of its own, a melting pot of cultures where the boundaries of geography and tradition blurred. In a single classroom, I was surrounded by classmates from every corner of the globe, each bringing their own stories, traditions and perspective to the table.

Friendships formed in Qatar were unlike any I've had elsewhere. We were all expats, in a way, navigating life in a country that wasn't our own but felt like home nonetheless. There was an unspoken bond among us, a shared understanding of what it meant to live between cultures. My closest friends came from countries I had never even visited, yet our differences felt like bridges rather than barriers. 

School life mirrored this celebration of diversity. Potluck lunches were culinary adventures, with dishes ranging from biryani to nasi goreng to shawarma, each representing a piece of someone's home. International Day was one of the most anticipated events, a day where we wore our national costumes with pride, danced to songs from around the world, and sampled cuisines that made the school feel like a global festival. These experiences didn't just teach me about other cultures---they shaped my understanding of identity and belonging.