‘Santai’ and acceptance: Lessons I learnt in Indonesia

Why rail against situations we cannot change? Life goes on.

- Aqil Hamzah

Three kilometres – that was roughly the distance between my apartment and the office in Jakarta.

When I first moved there in August, I expected the commute to be a walk in the park, an opportunity to familiarise myself with the city where I would spend three months on a work attachment.

After one attempt, I told myself I would never do it again.

On foot, it took me about 45 minutes to get to work as I tried to navigate pavements that ended abruptly, all while dodging waves of honking cars and speeding motorcycles barely inches away from me.

By the time I reached my office in central Jakarta, I’d survived at least three brushes with death, and I looked the part too – my shirt drenched in sweat.

But taking a car was only a little better. A ride-hail car would take me roughly the same time, only without the excessive perspiration.

No matter how early I left home, or the mode of my commute, the inexorable tide of traffic in the Indonesian capital would always make it seem as if the universe was mocking my time management skills.

The sulking Singaporean in me – so used to commutes on trains that were punctual to the minute – would turn into an agitated mess just like the traffic outside the car, as I fretted about being late for meetings and appointments.

With every minute added to my journey, I would let slip my growing irritation – my sighs becoming so noticeable that the ride-hail driver would find himself compelled to make conversation with me.

The chit-chat would almost always start with a lament about how bad the traffic was that day, or a question about where I came from.

Then the driver would smile and say, “Santai”.