After a year spent my first time ever living abroad, instead of answering my questions and curiosity, I feel like it left me with more questions and things that left unanswered. There are several things that I expected to find out there, both personally and academically: Living in a diverse community as a minority
For me, I expect London would be like full of British people as it famous for it in the cinemas. London had certain image in my head of how people look, interact and spend their days. I didn't expect that I will land my first day in London at Whitechapel. I know beforehand that the area is full of immigrants and people said that its also home for muslims who live in London. Things that I didn't expect is the area more multicultural than I imagined. Walking through the streets of Whitechapel, I was surrounded by a mix of languages, cuisines, and cultural expressions that made me question my initial assumptions about the city. Instead of the stereotypical British experience I had envisioned, I found myself immersed in a global melting pot where the definition of "Londoner" extended far beyond its historical Anglo-centric image.
My flat is just 15 minutes from Tower Bridge and 10 minutes from Liverpool Street, situated between Tower Hamlets and the City of London. Despite being only a 10-minute tube ride apart, Whitechapel and Liverpool Street feel like two completely different worlds. Liverpool Street is dominated by office workers rushing between skyscrapers, while Whitechapel is filled with families, small community-run shops, and a mix of restaurants reflecting its diverse population. The contrast between these two areas is striking, highlighting the city's social and economic divides within such a short distance.
This experience made me reflect on what it means to be a minority in a diverse community. While I was expecting to feel like an outsider, I was surprised to find a sense of familiarity in the way different cultures coexisted. The presence of halal restaurants, grocery stores selling Indonesian ingredients, and the call to prayer echoing in the neighborhood made me realize that London, despite being foreign, also held fragments of home for many people. It was both comforting and unsettling, as it blurred the lines between feeling like a visitor and belonging to the city.
However, being part of this diversity did not always mean inclusion. I noticed how different communities often remained within their own cultural bubbles, interacting mainly within their groups using their language rather than integrating with others. It made me wonder—does diversity automatically mean social cohesion? Or do people still navigate their daily lives in parallel, without truly intersecting? These questions lingered as I continued to explore London beyond Whitechapel, experiencing different neighborhoods and witnessing the layers of social and cultural complexities that shaped the city.
This realization extended beyond my personal experience and into my academic curiosity. How does urban diversity influence social dynamics? What policies shape these interactions, and how do cities foster genuine inclusivity rather than mere coexistence? Instead of finding answers, my time in London only expanded my questions, pushing me to rethink the ways in which cities accommodate, challenge, and redefine the concept of belonging.
Once I came home, I feels like I have been living as majority almost all of my life time, taking the privilege for granted. On the other hand, experiencing living abroad in one of the biggest city, London, especially in East London, makes me realize what it means to be a minority. In East London, I was surrounded by people from different backgrounds, languages, and cultures, yet I often found myself feeling like an outsider. Simple things, I acquired new skill to point out an Indonesian even though I never seen them before. I also feel utterly happy whenever I found Keripik Singkong, Tempe, and Rambutan in the market. Even though I live near from Tian Tian Market (only 5 minutes away from my flat) and Kacha Bazaar (Bangla Market), I still struggling to find familiar food, made me aware of the privileges I had back home. It made me rethink my own identity and what it means to be part of a community. I started noticing the small acts of inclusion and exclusion, how people navigate differences, and how the city itself influences who feels welcome and who doesn’t.
This experience challenged my perspective, making me more conscious of the way space, history, and power shape daily life. It left me wondering—how do people truly integrate into a city? What makes a place feel like home? And most importantly, what can be done to ensure that cities become more inclusive for everyone?