The questions that taught me I belong here

THE QUESTIONS THAT TAUGHT ME
I BELONG HERE

Posted by Christina Zipperlen on August 18, 2026

How we connect with the world around us matters. In obvious ways, yes, but in subtle ones too. Our daily interactions shape our sense of belonging, and influence how safe our hearts feel within a community.

Our neighbors, local shopkeepers, or the people who help us meet life's everyday needs aren't really strangers. We may not know their full stories, but we notice when they've cut their hair, when they seem tired, or when they haven't been around for a few days. We may never know everything they've lived through, yet we somehow carry gratitude for whatever brought our paths together.

The way we connect with - or miss connecting with - the people who fill our daily lives matters far more than we often realize.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF QUESTION

Growing up in Germany, and later spending time in North America, I became familiar with a certain rhythm of everyday conversation.

"How are you?"
"Good, thanks. You?"
"Good."

It's polite, it’s familiar and comfortable. And often, that's where the interaction ends.

Of course, beautiful communities exist everywhere, and I've met deeply caring people in every country I've lived. But in my own experience, many of these everyday exchanges tended to remain pleasantly on the surface.

Then I moved to Indonesia.

Almost immediately, I noticed something different.

Instead of asking how I was, people asked:

Mau ke mana? (Where are you going?)
Dari mana? (Where are you coming from?)
Udah makan? (Have you eaten yet?)

At first, I have to admit, I felt slightly uncomfortable.

Coming from a culture where those kinds of questions were usually reserved for close friends or family, they felt surprisingly personal. Why did everyone want to know where I was going? Why was everyone asking if I'd eaten?

It took me a while to understand what was actually happening.

These weren't questions born from curiosity; they were questions born from care.

CULTURES HAVE LOVE LANGUAGES

Even now, almost two decades later, it still happens nearly every day. Jaya strapped into the carrier against my chest, I'll walk up our little path to visit a friend or head into town, and someone will call out,

"Mau ke mana?" "Where are you going?"

I tell them where we're headed.

"To see a friend." / "Into Ubud." / “To the beach.” / …

And almost every time, I notice the same thing: A little smile, a nod, and - this one surprised me - a subtle sense of relief.

As though simply knowing where we're going relaxes the person asking.

I've often wondered where that feeling comes from.

In many places, being asked where you're going could feel intrusive. Here, it feels entirely different. It feels like someone making sure we're okay, it feels like being looked after.

I sometimes think cultures have love languages too. In some places, care sounds like, "How are you?"

Here, it sounds like,
"Have you eaten?"
"Where are you going?"
"When will you be home?"

None of these questions are really about gathering information.
They're little ways of saying,

“I noticed you.”
“I'm glad you're here.”
"You're part of this place."
"Your wellbeing matters to me."

That realization changed something in me.

HOW BELONGING IS BUILT

The village where I live isn't simply a collection of houses. It's a place where people's lives naturally overlap. People cook together, care for one another's children, prepare ceremonies together, notice when someone is unwell, and celebrate each other's joys.

As I slowly became part of that rhythm, those little questions stopped feeling intrusive. Instead, they became invitations: Invitations to slow down, to chat for five more minutes, to remember that we belong to one another more than modern life often encourages us to believe.

Over the years, something beautiful happened. My neighbors learned my favorite foods, and I learned where to find the best jackfruit in the village.

They learned about the country I came from, and I learned the stories, traditions, and ceremonies of the place I now call home.

We came to know each other's celebrations, responsibilities, and families. And naturally, we began helping each other through them.

Looking back, I don't think what changed most was my address, it was my understanding of what it means to be a neighbor. I learned that belonging isn't built through grand gestures, it's built through hundreds of tiny moments of noticing: a question asked while sweeping the front garden, a smile on the road, a shared meal, remembering someone's favorite snack, checking whether they've eaten.

It makes me wonder how many opportunities for connection pass us by every day. Perhaps every culture has its own way of saying I care about you. Sometimes we simply need to learn the language.

Because in the end, belonging isn't created by living beside one another, it's created by noticing one another. And perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts Indonesia has given me. Not only a home but also a different way of caring for the people around me.