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s I was flying from Beijing to Bali on July 3, it dawned on me that it had been one year, nearly to the day, since I had last set foot in Indonesia. In some ways I couldn’t believe it had been so long. But in other ways it felt like I had never left. Even though I hail from the US, it felt like I was coming home.

There is something about Indonesia that keeps drawing me back, both as an expat and as a traveler. I first came here on a two-month backpacking journey in 2013. I moved here as an expat in 2014. And at the end of June 2016 I made the snap decision to take a break from my new life in China to spend the summer in Indonesia.

It wasn’t until I spotted some of the archipelago’s turquoise-ringed islets from the plane that I realized how vividly I could picture my long-awaited reunion with Indonesia. I could feel the muggy heat cling to my body as I walked off the plane. I could see the shimmering blue of the Indian Ocean on which Denpasar’s airport sits. I knew which streets I would take to get into town. I knew too that I would undoubtedly get caught in macet (traffic jams).

I could already taste the nasi campur (rice with side dishes) I would order at the little sidewalk food stall I have visited so many times before. I could hear the mantras emanating from Bali’s numerous temples and sporadic mosques. I could imagine the smiles on the friends’ faces I knew I would be seeing again.

As an expat who is always on the move, it’s odd that Indonesia has such a hold on me. Because when I moved to Indonesia — Jakarta to be exact — during the summer of 2014 I didn’t exactly know how I felt about this country. I wasn’t even sure if I liked it.

Like so many decisions in my life, my move to Jakarta was a spur-of-the-moment one. A few weeks prior to landing in Indonesia’s sprawling capital, my partner had been offered a job here. Thrilled at the prospect of living abroad we took the deal. Twenty-one days later — with little planning and little luggage — we found ourselves standing in a strange apartment.

For the first few months, I found myself to be almost overwhelmingly crippled by a city I quickly realized I knew next to nothing about. Simple tasks posed challenges, like attempting to communicate with taxi drivers in my non-existent Indonesian or ordering vegetarian meals at restaurants or even trying to pay my electric bill every month.

Adjusting to life in Indonesia was challenging for me, and I often questioned whether or not I could hack it for the year I had signed up for.

But I did. And slowly but surely I started to fall not only for Jakarta, but Indonesia as a whole. During that year, I was able to slowly uncover the hidden charms of Jakarta. From its chaotic markets to its massive mosques to its highly underrated cuisine.

I was able to explore bits and pieces of this large and diverse country. I saw the magnificent vistas from Mt. Bromo, the ancient temples of Borobudur and Prambanan and the batik-swathed streets of Yogyakarta. I hiked to Bali’s hidden beaches, lush rice terraces and incense-infused pagodas. And by the time my year in Indonesia was up I felt like I had not only grown to truly appreciate my life in Jakarta, but that I just so happened to find my home away from home in Indonesia.

The day I left Jakarta, on July 1, 2015, I felt a deep pang of sadness. The same place that had instilled an overwhelming amount of fear in me just 12 months prior had somehow managed to worm its way into my heart. I knew I would miss the sound of the call to prayer, friends I had made, the bakwan (corn fritters) and sayur asem (tamarind vegetable soup) that had become my new comfort foods. I would miss the life I made there.

I knew too, somehow, that I wasn’t done with Indonesia.

And now that I’m back I have the sneaking suspicion that, some day, I will call Indonesia home once again. — Justine Lopez