New Year, New Chapter
The Beginning
My journey in Indonesia has been over 30 years in the making. I was born in Canada, but both my parents hail from Indonesia. I was fortunate that throughout my childhood, my parents made it a point to bring me and my siblings back to their home country regularly, spoke the language often at home, and (as much as possible) engrained our upbringing with their culture and traditions (read: food).
While my closest friends shared Cantonese as a common second language, I never found a use for Bahasa Indonesia outside the home. My Indonesian identity was pushed into second (or even third) place when I described my cultural background.
I say fortunate now, but when I was growing up I often felt confused and frustrated at the lack of understanding about Indonesia among my peers. The only other Indonesians I knew were either family or part of the church community (which was not a place I frequented, though I tried). I was always being asked questions like “where is Indonesia?” or “what language do they speak?” or, most often, “what is Indonesian food like?”. I had to resort to explaining it in proxy to other Southeast Asian foods that were much better understood (“it’s kind of like Thai but without as much coconut milk, more spice, more grilling, and oh yeah, you sometimes eat with your hands.”). While my closest friends shared Cantonese as a common second language, I never found a use for Bahasa Indonesia outside the home. My Indonesian identity was pushed into second (or even third) place when I described my cultural background.
It’s hard to say exactly when my frustration turned into curiosity, motivation and eventually, pride. There were certainly key inflection points in my life, including the moment when I found my passion for social impact (during a co-op term as an IT project manager for Toronto’s hospital network), when I left home for the first time to study abroad (meeting 150 students from 75 countries at HEC Paris) or when I took on my first social enterprise project (advising an eye hospital in Hyderabad as part of an MIT Sloan course). All of these experiences had opened my eyes and mind to the value of diversity, and to the numerous social challenges in developing markets. It also gave me a much stronger appreciation for the position I was given in life, and that my unique history should be celebrated as my advantage, rather than muddled into obscurity in my attempts to “fit in”.
Putting the Pieces Together
It was around this time, in 2013, that I was given the opportunity to work in Indonesia. Through MIT’s Global Startup Lab I was recruited to teach a summer program in entrepreneurship at the University of Gadjah Mada (UGM), the country’s most prestigious university. At that time the idea of building a tech startup was completely unheard of, and I struggled to inspire the students without any local examples to refer to. But I found a way to make it happen with a mashup of local entrepreneurs and inspiration from abroad, and in the process met the man who would later become my business partner.
All the while, small startups like Gojek (“like Uber but for motorcycles”, as it was described it to me at the time) were starting to find their footing in Indonesia. Things were heating up fast, and I was oblivious to it on the other side of the ocean.
After that summer I spent the next four years living and working in Silicon Valley, where I thought a lot about my experience in Indonesia and the jarring juxtaposition between the startup ecosystem there and my surroundings. I became increasingly disillusioned with the notion of Silicon Valley as the promised land for startups, where you could find someone to walk your dog or park your car, simply by opening an app on your phone. Or if you were too lazy to type an actual message, you could send your friend a simple “Yo”. All the while, small startups like Gojek (“like Uber but for motorcycles”, as it was described it to me at the time) were starting to find their footing in Indonesia. Things were heating up fast, and I was oblivious to it on the other side of the ocean.
Then one fateful day in 2017, I landed at Soekarno-Hatta International Airport in Jakarta. As soon as I left the airport, I was surrounded by swarms of motorcyclists in their emblematic green jackets.
Without a doubt this was not the Indonesia I had seen only four years ago. Over the coming days I would learn just how much Gojek had become engrained in the everyday life of Jakartans, how rivals like Grab and Uber were competing for a piece of their pie, and how other soon-to-be Unicorns like Traveloka and Tokopedia were completely transforming the startup landscape. I learned about the 1000 Digital Startup movement, or Gerakan Nasional 1000 Startup Digital, which had been initiated with the Ministry of ICT, to empower Indonesians across the country to build their own startups.
While I had been sitting in Silicon Valley, the country had been undergoing a digital transformation. In just four years startups & entrepreneurship had gone from the fringe to the mainstream. In 2013 I was teaching a class of 24, and now in 2017, 1000s of students filled an auditorium early on a Saturday morning to take the first step in building their own company. Talk about FOMO! And that was it. A few months later I had packed up my things in my overpriced apartment in San Francisco, and was on a plane bound for Jakarta.
Drinking from a Firehose
Admittedly, my first few months were tough. The learning curve was steep in every aspect of my life. At work I was asked to lead without much experience in the market and with the people. Within only a few weeks of starting I was standing on a stage representing the company, while behind the scenes I was scrambling. At home my independence was challenged by family and cultural expectations of where single women should and should not be. Socially I was restricted to where my family’s driver would take me. Coming home after 10pm raised eyebrows and news quickly reached my mother back home in Toronto. This was not how I wanted to live my life.
But, I persevered. I put in the long hours, pushed myself to adapt, found space to exercise my independence, and started building meaningful relationships with my team. I put in structure, order and process. I coached when it was needed. I worked on my Bahasa Indonesia. I worked non-stop to prove that I deserved to be there. And while I made my fair share of mistakes (some tiny, others massive), I always got back up and pushed on. Never questioning for a second if it was worth it.
I was being profiled by top media across the country and speaking at conferences around the world.
I earned tremendous payoffs for the effort. When Digitaraya was finally launched officially in 2018, we had an amazing partner, Google for Startups (formerly Google Developers Launchpad), supporting us. Over the next two years we would support over 100 early-stage startups from across APAC, and bring other amazing partners on the journey with us including McKinsey & Company, UBS, BCA, Tiket.com, and Gojek. And as Digitaraya’s brand grew, so did mine. I was being profiled by top media across the country and speaking at conferences around the world. My team also grew from 3 to 15 misfits who worked their asses off to prove we were the accelerator to beat. Those were the golden days.
But behind the golden veneer there was struggle, sacrifice, and failure aplenty. I was given my fair share of harsh feedback and witnessed many others getting the same. Physical, mental and emotional burnout was real. I could see the toll it took on my team. Many couldn’t handle it, and even worse, were made to believe it was their fault. And while I hated seeing them leave, I felt even worse when they didn’t. Yet for all the terrible things I witnessed and experienced, I stayed. I was committed to my team. I cared for them, deeply. And I cared about our mission.
2020, aka the Beginning of the End
Arriving at the airport and seeing expats everywhere I knew they had all received the same advice from their Embassies: go home. We don’t know how bad this is going to get.
Then, COVID-19 hit and with it, the tragedy that has been 2020. The first few months of the year seemed normal enough with our programs running at full speed, a new partnership announced, and a Google for Startups partner conference in London. I even took a one-week vacation to enjoy the stunning Scotland landscape with my husband. But within a blink of an eye the virus spread from China to Singapore, then London, and inevitably, Indonesia. Less than a month after returning to Jakarta I was packing another suitcase, this time with the essentials for an undetermined length of stay in Canada. Arriving at the airport and seeing expats everywhere I knew they had all received the same advice from their Embassies: go home. We don’t know how bad this is going to get.
At this moment my privilege was undeniable. I could leave because of the country on my passport. Though I knew it was the right decision, my conscience didn’t always agree. The irony of the situation was evident — I had come to Indonesia to be a part of something great, but the moment things got tough, I was just another expat.
For months I worked tirelessly from the other side of the world, taking calls first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, all while having flight after flight back to Jakarta cancelled. A planned return in June was pushed again and again until our last attempt in September. Just a week before our flight, Jakarta went into lockdown. Family and colleagues back in Indonesia told us to stay where we were. Tired of the never-ending mental battle and uncertainty of where we’d be next month, my husband and I finally said enough. We’re not going anywhere until things start getting better.
My heart sank, but in the back of mind, I knew I didn’t have the energy to fight the inevitable. My story with Digitaraya was coming to an end.
With that decision came the difficult realization that I just couldn’t do the work I wanted to do with Digitaraya from afar. Moreover, our potential partners were slashing budgets on non-critical functions, and the reality was that supporting startup accelerators just wasn’t a priority. If we wanted to keep the company going, we’d need to make drastic changes in structure and strategy. My heart sank, but in the back of mind, I knew I didn’t have the energy to fight the inevitable. My story with Digitaraya was coming to an end.
My last month was a mix of reflection and farewells, documenting the last three years of demo days, accelerator batches, partnership announcements and conferences, and tying up a ridiculous number of loose ends. It’s no easy task to say goodbye to something that’s defined you, that you’ve poured your heart and soul into for three long years. But it was only when I was forced to come up for air that I realized I’d been swimming (and sometimes drowning) in an ocean. There were certainly moments of sadness, but also celebration, appreciation, and honestly, relief. I was exhausted. I was ready for a break.
Lessons Learned
Though I wasn’t the founder, leaving Digitaraya still felt like saying goodbye to something I had created. To admitting defeat and coming to terms with the feeling of failure. I imagine it’s only a fraction of what true founders feel when their startups shut down, and a couple who had been through it reached out and candidly shared their experience with me. I could tell it was something they still thought about often, even if they’d found amazing career opportunities afterwards. It’s one thing to know the stats about failing startups, it’s another when you wear the battle scars yourself.
I learned a lot building Digitaraya and seeing it both thrive and suffer. And as I look forward to my next adventure, there are lessons I will certainly take with me.
One | Choose your battles, and when you do, fight.
If you’re doing something different, you will inevitably come across people who don’t understand, don’t value, or just plainly disagree with you. And if they’re disagreeing with something you’re personally invested in (i.e. your decisions about your startup) then, like me, you may feel the need to prove them wrong each and every time.
But fighting every battle is a dangerous trap that can eat up your time and energy, which should be focused on building your company and leading your team. Don’t waste your time nitpicking and protecting your ego. The important thing is knowing when the stakes are high enough that it’s a battle worth having, and taking a stand when it is. Even if it’s with your business partners, choose your battles wisely. When it’s something you truly believe in and it matters to your work, fight. Don’t leave what’s on your mind unsaid. And if you’ve chosen the right partners, you’ll come out of it stronger. Which brings me to my next point.
Two | Pick your partners wisely.
In the startup world, you don’t pack it up at 5pm everyday to head home to your family — your colleagues are your family. You will spend more time with them than your life partner and just like your life partner, you need to choose carefully. When assessing the opportunity don’t just look at the work, look at the people you’ll be working with. Do they pass The Airport Test? Are you able to have candid, critical discussions with them? Do they communicate, and do they cope well with stress? Do they inspire and support you to do you best? If you answered “no” to any of these questions, then you may want to rethink your partnership. Because just like with your life partner, breaking up with a business partner is messy.
Looking back, I undervalued advice from several people who knew me well, that I might not be compatible with my business partner. But my idealism overlooked personal chemistry in favor of the mission. Even in the thick of it, I suppressed the feeling of inequity. I didn’t value my own opinions and contributions enough to defend my position and make myself heard. And in doing so I let the relationship be dominated by the stronger person. I can only blame myself for not being more critical of our relationship and taking action to break the cycle sooner, but the experience has certainly taught me to be more selective about the people I choose to work with going forward.
Three | Know your value.
Finding the right partners is just as much about them as it is you. Knowing you value is not just about knowing your strengths and weaknesses — it’s also about taking pride in yourself and recognizing when a situation or offer is undervaluing you. Don’t get me wrong — this isn’t about arrogance (though I’ve seen it come across that way) or ego (though I’ve seen that come into play). It’s about seeing a situation objectively, and being able to value your contribution accordingly. It’s about knowing when to negotiate for a better deal and, in some cases, when to walk away.
I’ve been told so many times in my career that I need to value myself more, and this role was certainly no exception. Especially when dealing with C-level executives on high-value deals, it was easy for me to feel like the smallest person in the room. I didn’t feel it was my place to ask for anything, and that was my mistake. I undervalued myself time and time again. Only now as I look forward do I see the immense good will and credibility that I built with people reaching out with offers and opportunities. It’s been a much-needed wake up call that the only person doubting my value all this time has been me.
Four | You’ll never be ready. Just do it.
This might be the most important learning because it was what brought me to Indonesia in the first place! When it comes to making big changes — whether it’s launching a new product, moving to another country or building your own company — you will never be ready. You can always find doubts, flaws, or other imperfections to stop you. But chances are, if you wait for everything to be perfect, you’ll either never do it, or it’ll be too late.
The unknown can be scary, and for someone accustomed to data-driven decision making like me, it can be paralyzing. But the most rewarding experiences of my life have always required a leap of faith and a departure from my comfort zone. I’ve been asked countless times how I knew the time was right to move to Indonesia. And truthfully, I didn’t. But I did it anyway. Because I knew if I didn’t, I would always wonder what could’ve been. You’ll never know what you can accomplish until you venture into the unknown. Don’t miss your chance.
The Next Chapter
After three years and countless ups and downs, I’m ready for things to slow down, and to be back in control of my time, at least for a little while. My passion for Indonesia and startups hasn’t changed and I’m certain my future lies somewhere in the ecosystem that has grown so much since I first witnessed that swarm of green jacketed motorcyclists. Indonesia isn’t done with me yet, nor I with her. I’ll see you all again, soon.
Sampai jumpa!
