One New Thing
By Ella Erdahl ‘25, Gadjah Mada University Fellow 2025-2027
Reflecting back on my first six months, I think I came into this fellowship a bit too confident. I had dreams of taking trips every weekend, making friends on every corner of the Indonesian islands, and trying every food I had never heard of before. I was not, however, anticipating the overwhelming sense of anxiety that would emerge during my first few weeks whenever I faced the prospect of leaving my room. Perhaps due to jet lag, or perhaps due to the fact that my luggage had been lost somewhere in the process of my 40 hour journey to Indonesia, I found it exceedingly hard to get out of bed. I binge watched TV shows, tore through my to-read list, and greatly improved my sudoku skills, but I was not journeying to remote corners of the world or forging the life-altering relationships I had imagined. In my first weeks, I grew disappointed in myself for not “taking full advantage” of the fellowship in all the ways I had been planning. And yet, I felt drained just existing, which led me to feel like I was wasting this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity by laying in my bed.
Perhaps because I’m an Obie, or perhaps the reason I became an Obie, I only made it three days hiding in my room before I felt like my brain would melt out of my ears and I would collapse into a puddle of failure and sadness. That’s right: after arriving in Yogyakarta in the evening of July 31, 2025, August 2 was my bed-rot breaking point. Living off of the two outfits and the travel-sized toiletries I had been smart enough to put in my carryon, I pulled myself up, doused myself with bugspray, and walked in a straight line away from my homestay.
During the walk through these rice paddies, I mostly remember an all-encompassing sense of anxiety and dread. I was so exceedingly aware of the attention I attracted in the rural outskirts of the city center, partially due to how I looked and partially due to the fact that I was walking. The absence of Indonesian walking culture meant that when I responded to people questioning where I wanted to go with I’m just on a walk, they all looked at me like I was crazy. To make matters worse, the people living in the neighborhood were friendly, meaning they all wanted to have a conversation with me. My elementary Indonesian at the time felt inadequate, an anxiety that was exacerbated by the fact that most people in the area preferred to speak in Javanese, a language which is not mutually intelligible with what I had been studying. And yet, I persisted. I walked down for 20 minutes and back for 20 minutes, forcing myself to smile at my new neighbors, marking my first solo adventure and spontaneous human connection since arriving. The straight path I took in the heat that clings to the air before Indonesian sunsets was the start of overcoming the challenges — both big and small, internal and external — that would accompany my Shansi journey.
While pulling myself out of bed to leave the house for an unrequired reason was one of my first big achievements in Indonesia, I found myself at a loss for what to do with myself the next day. All of the big tourist attractions were far from my homestay and much closer to where I would be living during the semester, disincentivizing a trip to the city center. Thus, I was relegated to residential rice paddies. And yet, I felt like walking the same path I had walked the day before would mark some kind of failure. Wasn’t I supposed to be making the most of this opportunity? Was I not wasting my time here if I do exactly the same thing every day? While sitting with this dilemma, a single thought sprung to mind: yesterday I walked North, so today I will walk East. And just like that, I found the single most helpful thing in my adjustment to living in Indonesia: One New Thing Every Day.
The rules I set for myself then were simple. Every single day, you have to try at least one new thing. It could be big, such as going to a new city, or it could be small, like trying a new flavor of instant noodles. But regardless of where or when or how, I vowed to myself that the “Principle of Something New” would guide my two years here. As a form of accountability, I began to track what I was doing in my trusty notes app.
On August 3 (the day I walked East), I ordered my first coffee. The process went smoothly, if not riddled with the same anxiety that had accompanied my walk; I had to pass the cafe 3 times in order to gather the courage required for me to enter and say the words saya mau kopi (I want coffee). This sentence had serenaded my pacing as I tried to imagine every possible phrase the worker could respond with. After a brief stare down with a street chicken, I decided I was being ridiculous and made one of my first friends out of the old man who worked the warung, accompanied by the flavors of ABC instant coffee.
August 4 marked another small win, as I finally ventured into a convenience store. Indomaret, now my snack locale of choice, boasted a wide variety of items, and I grabbed two random things with labels I couldn’t understand (a cassava snack and a lychee drink) before returning to my homestay. This westward walk was the only thing outside of language learning that pulled me out of bed that day.
As we neared Indonesian independence day, I had to work less to fabricate “Something New” and began to move away from simply growing comfortable with existing. On August 9, I was invited to a celebration in a small village a bit north of the city center, where I got to watch and participate in various lomba, the traditional games and competitions many Indonesian communities participate in to celebrate the holiday. My language school had its own celebration on August 13, and there I got to compete against my classmates. On the actual holiday, August 17, I journeyed into the city center to watch the flag raising ceremony and view a fashion parade on Jalan Malioboro, celebrating 80 years of Indonesian independence.
My “New Thing of the Day” began to take on a more cultural bend as August came to a close; on the 24th, I paid my first visit to the Keraton to watch a traditional dance performance. This was shortly followed by my first messy attempts at making batik, realized on the last day of the month.
As September came around, a lot of firsts revolved around meeting new people and focusing on my relationships. I tried gelato with some international students on September 6, and those young women ended up becoming good friends and primary adventure buddies throughout my first semester in Jogja. September 8 led me to a board game cafe with our “foster friends,” Tata and Dhira, a connection that has now been passed down through four Jogja fellows.
September also brought more of the tourism I had originally been anticipating, as I visited Prambanan on the 12th, trekked around Mt Merapi on the 13th, and finally saw Borobudur and Chicken Church (the best building ever constructed) on the 21st.
September 25, however, marks the day I stopped writing down my New Things in the notes app. The achievement that brought this complacency about was my first solo dinner at a restaurant. While I was no stranger to eating by myself, facilitated by cheap food delivery in Jogja, sitting alone in a restaurant was the last big anxiety I had yet to overcome. So, I walked about 2 minutes from my house and ate rice, tempeh, and veggies for 8000 rupiah (about 50 cents). Navigating how to order at new restaurants had been a source of deep dread, as each place has a slightly different system — at the time, every one of these systems had felt equally impossible to navigate on my own. That simple meal consequently marked one of the biggest wins for my sense of independent capability to date, making me feel like the notes app that had been supporting every adventure was no longer necessary.
While I don’t officially track what I try any more, “The Principle of Something New,” which nudges me out the door for unrequired reasons, continues to serve as the foundation of my to-do list. I have yet to miss experiencing a day with at least “One New Thing.” Some days, like when I was backpacking around Malaysia, Thailand, and Vietnam with other fellows during our semester break, new things were easy to implement and always adventurous. Other days, it’s as simple as a new snack from Indomaret or a walk in a new direction.
Some highlights of Jogja firsts that came after I stopped officially tracking include my first Indonesian wedding on October 18, my first Javanese beach trip on October 19, and my first Gamelan performance on October 24. I brought American culture to Indonesia by making a Jack-O-Lantern out of a squash on October 28, when Mia and I also taught one of our Indonesian friends how to carve a pumpkin. During a weekend trip to Karimunjawa, November 24 was the day I first tried and fell in love with snorkeling.
My first December without snow brought class field trips to new locations, hikes with gym friends, a visit to an ostrich farm, and the scouring of fish markets as I worked to bring a traditional family meal to life in Jogja.
Whenever I start losing inspiration for “Something New,” I go to the fruit markets. In my time around Southeast Asia, I’ve tried my first bites of mangosteen, sapodilla, custard apple, snakefruit, longan, pomelo, rambutan, durian, langsat, and more species of banana and mango than I ever knew existed. I similarly order every drink that sparks my curiosity, which has led me to try juices and teas made of nutmeg, ambarella, pennywort, bael, roselle, sugar cane, soursop, avocado, kumquat, and starfruit. The longer I live here, the braver and more committed I become to trying new things, and I have yet to regret ordering something new (regardless of the fear of fresh fruits and vegetables that was instilled in me before I departed the USA).
The first six months of the fellowship have consequently taught me both to give myself grace as I face very human fears of the unknown while still pushing myself to always try Something New. While those first few weeks induced previously untold levels of anxiety, letting myself be guided by the principle of “One New Thing Every Day” has allowed me to ease into independent life abroad. And yet, when I look back on my walk to the North in early August, I remember not only the irrational anxiety that clung to every fiber of my being and the internal battles that brought me to that street, but I also remember the kindness of my neighbors that helped to pull me further down the road. Old women on bicycles met my tight-lipped smile with toothy grins and three adolescent girls packed onto a single motorbike held their hands up in the shape of hearts as they passed. As I struggled to feel like I belonged, these sisters and mothers from the other side of the planet made me feel welcome on their streets.
I’ve discovered that for me, living abroad isn’t sustainable if it’s a constant adventure, but it also doesn’t feel worthwhile without a sense of exploration. What’s more is that it requires human relationships. Embracing the mundanity like it’s an adventure is what has allowed me to feel less like a guest here and more like I have a life with meaningful connections. It has allowed me to feel like I’m making the most of my experience (whatever that actually means).
My “New Things,” big or small, have made this place feel more like home and have empowered me to continue to push myself to explore and expand my relationships with myself and my surroundings every day — a practice I look forward to continuing in the coming year and a half.
