This article is part of the series:Advice from a Sister from Another MotherA collection of honest reflections and practical lessons from a 30-something to her 20-something sisters—about love, self-worth, career, money, and navigating this wild thing called life. Written from the other side of the storm—because I might know a thing or two.
For years, I’ve noticed something funny about Jakarta: when tanggal tua hits, the roads clear up. Traffic? Practically disappear. Then tanggal muda rolls in and suddenly it’s bumper-to-bumper chaos again. I used to wonder, aren’t people planning their spending? Like... don’t you know your gas money should last till next payday?
Well. Apparently, no.
Because for a lot of people, financial planning is a luxury—or at least, it feels like one. When your paycheck just barely covers basic living costs, trying to “budget” can feel laughable.
And yet—that’s exactly when you need a plan the most.
And I’ve found myself asking, again and again:
- Is this just the symptom of a paycheck-to-paycheck economy, where people are constantly catching their breath?
- Or is it the side effect of being raised with zero financial literacy?
- Is it tied to that infamous “Indonesia’s average IQ” debate people love to throw around?
- Or is it deeper—cultural, even spiritual—like our beloved motto: “Insya Allah nanti ada rejeki.” (God willing, the money will come. Eventually. Somehow.)
But also… a little too passive sometimes.
Because hope isn’t a financial plan.
And faith, while beautiful, doesn’t top up your e-wallet.
And honestly? I wasn’t that different.
Back in 2018–2019, I was earning decently, but spending like a woman possessed—by duty, by freedom, by middle-class revenge fantasies. I was helping pay off family debt, sure. But also blowing money on things that looked like success: skincare routines I couldn’t keep up with, trips I barely remember, shopping carts that felt like validation.
I wasn’t broke. But I wasn’t building anything either. I had income, but no structure.
Savings? Yes—but inconsistent. Accidental. Whatever was left after the dopamine wore off.
And then, my (then) boyfriend—now husband—hit me with one painfully simple question:
“How much do you actually need… to live?”
Not to perform.
Not to chase the soft-life aesthetic.
Not to escape stress with random checkouts.
Just—to live. Peacefully. Sustainably. With room to breathe.
That’s when everything shifted.
We sat down, and he helped me calculate actual monthly needs—food, rent, transport, bills, cat food, internet, the essentials. Just basic dignity and daily peace.
At the time, we weren’t even married yet. He wasn’t obligated to do any of it. But he did—gently, consistently. Like someone building a future with me with spreadsheet, not just dreaming about it. Together, we started structuring my finances not just for survival, but for something bigger: to save for our wedding, and our dream honeymoon in New Zealand. Which we had to cancel thanks to COVID—but that’s another story.
Then we made our first rule:
Cut savings up front.
Not “save what’s left.” We did the opposite—
“Spend what’s left after saving.”
It felt wild at first. I used to joke:
“Ten minutes after payday, my account balance already looks like tanggal tua. Again.”
But weirdly? That worked. Because what was left after saving was all I had to work with. It forced me to think. To choose. To say “not now” to things that could wait.
It taught me that most of my impulsive spending wasn’t based on need. It was boredom, ego, envy, or just plain habit.
The habit stuck. The system grew. And my then-boyfriend? He evolved into our full-blown Minister of Finance™—unofficial title, extremely official power.
Now, to be clear—do I still buy things on impulse? Of course I do. But now it’s manageable. Why? Because I can only spend what I’ve already budgeted for. My whims don’t disappear—they just live within a safe, fenced-in playground. There’s a line item for joy, and that includes a little bit of chaos. And honestly? That helps me stick to the bigger plan without feeling like I’m constantly depriving myself.
But here’s the thing I don’t want to leave out: he didn’t do it by force.
He didn’t lecture me. He didn’t shame me. He didn’t throw charts at me or roll his eyes when I bought dumb stuff.
So if you’re the "spender" in your relationship: it’s okay. You can change without killing your joy.
And if you're the one who “gets it” first: be kind. Be patient. You’re not just building a budget—you’re building trust.
These days, every major spending decision needs to pass through the Ministry—with receipts, reasons, and sometimes an emotional pitch deck.
The only thing exempt from this process? Health.
Everything else goes through rigorous bureaucratic approval.
So here it is: the system we still live by.
Rooted in trial, error, a little shame, and a lot of love.
Here’s What We Did (and Still Do)
- Treat your personal finance like a mini-corporate.
Think of yourself as the CEO of PT Bahagia Bersama Selamanya. You need forecasts. Income. Fixed costs. Annual landmines like insurance or school fees. Surprise birthday parties. Even petty cash. Make spreadsheets. Color-code. Hell, name your bank accounts if you must (we have more than 3 accounts—just in case you're wondering). And if possible, how much growth you're expecting? - Talk about the kind of life you want to build.
Not just where you want to live, but how you want to feel. Do you want weekly date nights or are you okay with sambal and rice on the couch? Do you want to buy property or rent closer to family? Do you want to work less, or work like crazy and retire early? The point is—name it. Then reverse-engineer it. - Live below your means—on purpose.
This isn’t deprivation. This is strategy. We could’ve rushed into buying a house in the suburbs, but chose to rent somewhere more central and sane. We don’t go out every weekend. We buy secondhand. We wait. We let go of “keeping up.” We remind ourselves: enough is a decision. - Separate your money—clearly, intentionally.
One account for bills. One for spending. One for savings. One for “vibes” if you must. When money is mushed into one big soup, you’ll keep sipping until it’s gone and wonder why you're hungry later. Clarity is freedom. - Apply for budget approvals for major spending.
We’re joking (but not really). Big purchases—anything over, say, a million rupiah—need a discussion. Can we justify it? Do we need it? Can we get it used, borrowed, or later? We’ve said no to so many “wants” this way, and we’ve never regretted it. (Health is the one exception. Health gets an automatic green light. No deck needed.) - Invest in the invisible.
The quiet stuff. Emergency funds. Insurance. A little retirement stash. Money that won’t make you look richer today, but will absolutely keep you safer tomorrow. Boring? Maybe. But future-you will send you a fruit basket. - Make space for joy—on a budget.
We budget for fun. Seriously. For takeout. For sudden let’s-go-somewhere energy. Because if you don’t give joy its own line item, you’ll sabotage your own discipline later. Just keep it reasonable. Money is a tool, not a master.
Sisterly Advice, No Filter:
- “Don’t let capitalism gaslight you into thinking retail therapy is therapy.”
It's a dopamine hit, not healing. Know the difference. - “Just because you can afford it doesn’t mean you should.”
Spend with intention, not to silence discomfort. Or prep for-a-whim budget that you can spend carelessly.
- “Planning is hard. Execution is harder. But peace of mind is the real wealth.”
Start where you are. With what you have.
No shame if you're not there yet.
But your twenty-ish self deserves better than waking up broke and confused every month. Build the habit. Build the mindset. Build your PT Bahagia Bersama Selamanya.
Because financial freedom isn’t about being rich.
It’s about being okay.
And that, my love, is priceless.
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