Jakarta: The Hardship Posting Everyone Pretends Isn’t One
There’s something circulating in the air lately — and no, it’s not just the seasonal haze. It’s the rising cloud of international delusion drifting in from LinkedIn, manifesting as status updates that read: “Excited to announce I’m relocating to Jakarta!”
You’ll recognize them instantly. Usually mid-30s, armed with a business degree, a podcast no one listens to, and a deeply misplaced sense of frontier spirit. They’re not Southeast Asia veterans. They’re not even casual visitors. Most couldn’t pick Jakarta out on a map until their remote work visa in Portugal ran out. But now, suddenly, they’ve decided they’re here to “build community,” “drive impact,” and “disrupt traditional industries.”
The only thing they’re actually disrupting is traffic, by accidentally trying to walk somewhere.
Let’s be clear: Jakarta isn’t the problem. Jakarta is Jakarta — complex, imperfect, and unbothered. The issue is the fantasy. The idea that you can parachute into one of the most politically, economically, and logistically tangled cities in Asia with a dream, a vague fintech pitch, and sunscreen.
Romanticizing Jakarta isn’t brave. It’s just uninformed optimism, dressed in linen.
Jakarta Is Not Bali, Unless You Mean It's Also Sinking
Somewhere between a Canggu beachfront Zoom call and a thread about Indonesia's GDP on startup Twitter, a truly remarkable thing happens: otherwise functioning adults begin to confuse Jakarta with Bali. It's as if once you've had a $14 smoothie in Ubud and read a Medium post about digital inclusion, you’re spiritually qualified to relocate to Jakarta and start a fintech.
You’ll hear them say it:
“Indonesia is really where it’s at — I was in Bali last year and I just felt something.”
Yes, Karen. That something was probably heat stroke and a mild case of norovirus, but we love the enthusiasm.
Let’s correct the record. Bali is retreats, rice paddies, and remote workers “building in public” while avoiding taxes. Jakarta is gridlocked chaos, malls the size of small countries, and infrastructure designed by what seems to be a rotating cast of interns with no engineering background.
In Bali, you might spend your afternoon in a co-working space, sipping ginger shots and contemplating your inner truth. In Jakarta, you’ll spend it stuck in traffic, wondering why the driver has taken a detour through a flooded alley while your bladder negotiates terms with your soul.
Bali smells like incense, ocean breeze, and overpriced eucalyptus oil. Jakarta smells like burning clutch, humid despair, and fried street food cooked 6 inches from an open sewer.
The point isn’t to dunk on Jakarta. It’s to stop pretending it’s something it’s not. Jakarta isn’t misunderstood — it’s misrepresented. And no amount of startup optimism or tropical-themed personal branding will change the fact that this is a city that will eat your day, your energy, and occasionally, your vehicle, if it rains hard enough.
Romanticize Bali all you want. But please — leave Jakarta out of your Instagram-fueled Southeast Asia fantasy arc.
The Myth of “Opportunity” in Jakarta for the Random Expat with Zero Ties
There’s a new species in the Jakarta expat ecosystem: the Untethered Opportunity Chaser. Usually mid-career, recently downsized, and heavily addicted to GaryVee reels, they’ve decided—often after a single panel discussion on “The Future of Southeast Asia”—that Jakarta is where they’re going to make it.
No ties to the region? No problem. No job, business, or market knowledge? Even better. They come armed with a backpack, a vague notion of “solving inefficiencies,” and a deck titled “Jakarta: The Untapped Frontier.” Their qualifications include existing on LinkedIn and believing in themselves.
This is LinkedIn psychosis in its final form. Somewhere along the line, Jakarta got rebranded from “developing capital with brutal traffic and policy inertia” to “emerging-market Burning Man for digital nomads with dad energy.” They think they’ll arrive, say “ecosystem” three times fast, and be handed a Series A and a handwoven batik welcome basket.
Jakarta does not care about your hustle. This is a place that runs on relationships, nuance, and knowing a guy who knows a guy. It rewards quiet persistence, not loud ambition. If you think charisma and Canva slides can replace regional insight, Jakarta will feed you to the traffic gods by Q2.
Yes, you might manage to secure a coffee meeting with a VC — if they’re curious or bored. You may even give a TEDx talk that 73 people attend, 40 of whom came for the snacks. But the actual deals? The funding? The jobs that pay above survival level? They’re going to locals, insiders, or seasoned Asia veterans who don’t use “disrupt” as a noun.
Meanwhile, you’re still refreshing the immigration website trying to decode why your visa status changed from “processing” to “error.”
“It’s Not a Hardship Posting Anymore” – Lies People Tell Themselves While Coughing
There’s a dangerous rumor being whispered through the air-conditioned hallways of expat-heavy office towers in Jakarta: “It’s not really a hardship posting anymore.” This bold claim typically comes from someone who just arrived, lives in a penthouse above a mall, and hasn’t yet experienced the joy of chest-deep flood water casually entering their Grab car.
Let’s not mince words: Jakarta is still very much a hardship—just one that’s been rebranded by latte art, coworking spaces, and the existence of one semi-reliable MRT line.
Yes, you can now get a cortado in Senopati. Yes, there are yoga studios with eucalyptus towels. But if you’re living under the illusion that this places Jakarta on par with Singapore, congratulations—you’ve officially inhaled too many AQI 210 days.
You cannot walk anywhere without risking injury or public humiliation. Sidewalks are either missing, crumbling, or occupied by a man selling fried tofu next to an open sewer. You still need a driver unless you enjoy re-enacting Mad Max every time you try to cross an intersection.
You will get sick. Often. Mysteriously. Possibly from the air. Possibly from a salad. Doctors will hand you three kinds of antibiotics and one pink syrup, and you’ll nod because you’re too weak to argue.
And no, the presence of artisanal gelato in a mall next to Uniqlo doesn’t mean we’ve evolved past hardship status. It just means the hardship has gotten better at marketing itself.
Jakarta is not unlivable. It’s just not easy. And pretending otherwise isn’t optimism—it’s wilful delusion. So let’s retire the myth, embrace the chaos, and stop acting like access to oat milk is a marker of urban progress.
The Expat Fantasy Pipeline: From Bold Dream to One-Way Ticket Out
The classic Jakarta Expat Journey—equal parts ambition, humidity, and inevitable disillusionment. It begins not in Indonesia, of course, but in a tastefully curated café in Brooklyn, or a Lisbon coworking space where someone’s pitching a crypto project that definitely isn’t a pyramid scheme.
Here comes Stage 1: The Declaration.
“I’ve just been feeling this pull… Jakarta seems like the place to make a real impact.”
Said aloud by someone who thinks "impact" is a career path and has done exactly zero Googling about regional infrastructure. They believe they’re answering some cosmic calling. In reality, they’re just chasing a LinkedIn mood board.
Stage 2: The Arrival.
They land in Soekarno-Hatta International Airport, mistaking its aging terminals for gritty charm. The taxi ride to their overpriced, under-maintained apartment is their first real brush with Jakarta's unofficial motto: "Maybe later." Water leaks, power cuts, and inexplicable bureaucratic detours await, but hey, the coffee shop downstairs does a good flat white.
Stage 3: The Descent.
Reality hits hard. The startup is stalled. The networking events are... far. They've been sick twice, possibly three times, and they’re starting to understand that “local integration” doesn’t mean uploading batik selfies. It means getting ghosted by immigration and refreshing Tokopedia for antihistamines. The optimism fades. The cough lingers.
Stage 4: The Exit.
No dramatic farewell, just a stealth relocation to Singapore, Bangkok, or “remote for now.” One final Instagram story: a sunrise over Monas and a caption about “personal growth.” They will never mention Jakarta again.
Their LinkedIn now reads:
“SEA-focused operator | Jakarta → Singapore | Still learning.”
We know. We watched it happen.
Let’s be clear: Jakarta is not some caricature of urban chaos. It’s not a city you mock from afar while sipping imported IPA in Singapore. It’s a real, living metropolis — frustrating, yes, but also pulsing with ambition, talent, and resilience. It's where fortunes are built, just not by people who expect it to be easy.
For those who show up with humility, context, and at least a basic grasp of how a visa works, Jakarta can be generous. It rewards patience, relationships, and quiet competence. But it has zero time for tourist-founders trying to fix “inefficiencies” they don’t understand, or wandering professionals hoping to discover purpose in a coworking space with a tropical mural.
Jakarta does not owe you a transformative career arc. It is not here to validate your quarter-life pivot. If you arrive expecting to be welcomed as a visionary, you’ll quickly find yourself welcomed as a case study in avoidable failure.
So yes, come to Jakarta — but come correctly. Pack more self-awareness than ambition. Know your place. Bring a fixer, a fan, and an air purifier. And above all, remember: Jakarta doesn’t care about your dreams. It’s busy running a city.