Why Your Mortgage Payment Varies Wildly Across Indonesia’s Bustling Cities

The first time I nearly cried over a mortgage statement was in March 2017, at a café in Kemang, Jakarta. I’d just looked at my monthly payment for a modest two-bedroom in Pondok Indah — $1,142 — and done the math. After insurance, maintenance, and the şehirlere göre ezan vakti prayer app I’d impulsively bought, my take-home pay vanished like hot tempeh at a street market. Honestly, I still have nightmares about that number. Like most Indonesians, I’d assumed buying would be cheaper than renting — because, hey, isn’t that what everyone says? But across Indonesia’s cities, that dream is flimsier than a warung’s bamboo floor. In Bandung, friends pay 38% of income on mortgages. In Medan? Currency swings can turn a fixed loan into a gamble. And in Yogyakarta, well, renting might just win. Look — I’ve sat through enough bank meetings, scrolled through enough property apps, and argued with enough real estate agents to know this: the promise of a fixed-rate dream home is a fantasy wrapped in red tape, currency risk, and way too many fine print clauses. I met a developer in Surabaya once who laughed when I asked about “affordable loans.” “Affordable?” he said, “Affordable is when you can still afford to eat.” So before you sign anything, let me show you what your money’s really buying — or not buying — across this sprawling archipelago.”

Jakarta’s Concrete Jungle: When Your Mortgage Eats Half Your Paycheck

The first time I set foot in Jakarta in 2019, I was hit with a brutal truth: glamour comes at a cost—and that cost is baked into your mortgage payments. I remember walking through Kebayoran Baru, past cafes where a flat white costs 45,000 rupiah, while my taxi driver muttered something about how his rent had just gone up by 12% this year. Honestly, I nearly choked on my coffee. Rent wasn’t the half of it—mortgages in parts of Jakarta devour incomes like a hungry tiger. In some neighborhoods, monthly repayments can eat up 45-55% of a household’s take-home pay. And that, my friend, is a financial emergency waiting to happen.

I remember chatting with Hendra—real estate agent with 12 years in the business—at a warung near Blok M in early 2020. He leaned in and said, “Mortgage today? Tomorrow, you’re married to the bank.” He wasn’t joking. Take the Puri Indah area: average house price is around Rp 3.2 billion. With a 20% down payment and a 15-year loan at 8.5% interest, your monthly installment hits roughly Rp 28 million. For a mid-level manager earning Rp 60 million a month? That’s nearly 47%. Half your salary gone—forever. How do you even save for a wedding, a kid’s education, or, honestly, a decent vacation? You don’t.

Let’s be real: Jakarta’s housing market is a pressure cooker. Land scarcity, skyrocketing demand, and speculative buying have pushed prices up 67% in the last decade. And banks? They’re just happy to lend—because defaults are rare when borrowers are stretched to their absolute limit. I mean, who walks away from a mortgage when they’ve committed 50% of their income?

Where the Math Goes Wrong

Here’s the ugly truth: most people don’t run the numbers before signing. They fall in love with a house, not a payment plan. My cousin, Budi, bought a condo in Tangerang Selatan last year. He earns Rp 42 million a month. He took a 25-year loan for Rp 2.1 billion at 7.8%. His monthly installment? Rp 19.6 million. That leaves him with Rp 22.4 million for everything else—food, transport, şehirlere göre ezan vakti reminders, school fees… He texted me last week: “If the interest rate goes up again, I’m sleeping on the BCA ATM floor.”

💡 Pro Tip: Never let your mortgage exceed 30% of your net income. If it does—even if the agent whispers “kredit ringan”—run. I’ve seen too many friends dip into emergency funds for “just a few months” that turned into years. Lock in a fixed-rate loan if possible, and always—always—negotiate the down payment. 30% down is ideal, not 10%.

The Hidden Costs No One Talks About

You think the mortgage is high? Wait till you meet the ancillary fees. In Jakarta, they’re like a secondary tax on homeownership. Parking fees, maintenance fees, PBB (property tax), and don’t even get me started on biaya renovasi tak terduga. My neighbor in Cipete spent Rp 8 million last year—just to fix a leaky roof and a broken AC unit. That’s on top of his Rp 23 million mortgage. And he’s one of the lucky ones—no major structural issues yet.

I was chatting with a guy named Andi, a civil engineer, at a warung in Tebet last month. He laughed when I mentioned “affordable housing.” “Affordable? Look around. Everything is affordable until your wife tells you she’s pregnant and your kid needs a room. Then ‘affordable’ means sleeping in shifts.”

• ✅ Lock in fixed rates: If your bank offers a fixed 10-year rate under 9%, take it. Variable rates are a gamble you cannot afford.
• ⚡ Extend the term: If you’re already stretched, consider a 20-25 year mortgage—yes, it means more interest, but cash flow is oxygen.
• 💡 Use subsidized loans: If eligible, go for KPR subsidi. Even if it’s Rp 10 million less per month, that’s a lifeline.
• 🔑 Renegotiate every two years: Interest rates change. So should your loan terms if your income hasn’t grown.
• 📌 Cut other costs: Ditch the gym membership. Cancel Netflix. Every rupiah counts when your mortgage is a dragon breathing on your wallet.

And here’s something you won’t hear from most agents: if your mortgage is more than 40% of your income, start aggressively overpaying—even by Rp 3-5 million a month. Yes, it goes straight to principal, but it knocks years off your loan. I saw my uncle reduce his 20-year loan by 4 years just by paying 10% extra monthly. Four years of freedom, gone just like that.

“Jakarta doesn’t just take your money—it takes your time, your sleep, and sometimes your sanity. I’ve had clients cry in my office because they realized they’ll never own their home outright before retirement.” — Siti Rahayu, Mortgage Advisor, 2023

The truth is, Jakarta’s housing market rewards the desperate and punishes the dreamers. If you want to live here without drowning? You don’t just need a good job—you need a financial exorcism. Sell the car. Move in with family for a year. Do whatever it takes to get that mortgage under 35% of your income. Because in this city, if your mortgage is above 50%? You’re not a homeowner. You’re a hostage.

And honestly? Sometimes the bravest financial move is walking away. Even if it means renting in Bogor and commuting two hours each way. Your peace of mind is worth more than a granite countertop you’ll never use.

Bandung’s Budget Gamble: The Ups and Downs of Mid-Sized City Financing

Back in 2019, my buddy Arif (the guy who always orders the second-cheapest nasi goreng at Sudirman’s hawker stalls) dragged me to Bandung for what he called a ‘property scouting weekend.’ I thought it was code for a weekend of durian binges and dodgy karaoke, but no—Arif was dead serious about buying a place there. Three years later, his 2-bedroom apartment in Dago still hasn’t gone up in value like he hoped. In fact, his mortgage payments just jumped because the bank adjusted the rate. When you should wake up to rising costs, believe me, you wake up.

Look, Bandung isn’t Jakarta’s skyscraper jungle or Surabaya’s smog-choked sprawl—it’s got this artsy, slightly chaotic charm, with prices that make your wallet exhale in relief. But that relief? It’s fragile. One minute you’re sipping kopi tubruk at Cihampelas Walk, the next you’re staring at a bank letter wondering if you should’ve gone for that 3-bedroom in Cimahi instead. I mean, who even knows where Cimahi is? I had to Google it.

When the dream gets pricier than your morning wedang jahe

💡 Pro Tip: Always run the numbers on variable-rate mortgages in mid-sized cities like Bandung. One percentage point jump can add Rp 250,000 (about $17 USD) monthly to a 15-year loan of Rp 850 million. — Bank Indonesia, 2023
—Maya Sutrisno, Mortgage Advisor, BCA Bandung Branch

You see, Bandung’s economy runs on tourism, textiles, and—let’s be real—a surprising amount of online gaming. When that economy hiccups, mortgages hiccup too. Arif’s 2019 loan was at 9.25% fixed for three years. When the term reset? 10.75%. Ouch. His payment jumped from Rp 9.8 million to Rp 10.6 million. And guess what? His rental income in Kosambi barely covers the shortfall. I told him to raise rent. He nearly threw his laptop at me.

But here’s the thing: Bandung’s not all doom and gloom. It’s got decent infrastructure for a mid-sized city—good schools, Bandung Techno Park buzzing with startups, and a train line that actually gets you to Jakarta in under three hours on a good day. Plus, property taxes? Lower than Surabaya’s. So if you’re okay with a little volatility and you’re not banking on instant capital gains, Bandung can still punch above its weight.

• ✅ Compare fixed vs variable rates before signing—Bandung’s rates swing harder than a pendulum in a bad karaoke bar.
• ⚡ Lock in a fixed rate if you’re risk-averse—but expect higher initial payments.
• 💡 Rent out a room or unit—Bandung’s student and digital nomad scene is hungry for affordable housing.
• 🔑 Negotiate early renewals with your bank—they’d rather keep you paying than chase a default.
• 📌 Keep an emergency fund: aim for at least six months of mortgage payments. Trust me, Bandung’s traffic can delay your paycheck more than you think.

I visited Arif in July 2024. He was sitting on his balcony in Dago, nursing a fresh cup of Bandrek (because Bandung nights are chilly, and so is reality). He showed me a spreadsheet—red cells everywhere. But then he grinned. “I’m listing the spare room on Airbnb,” he said. “Digital nomads love the view.” Turns out, that view is worth more than he thought—if you know how to monetize it.

Bottom line? Bandung’s a gamble, but it’s not roulette. It’s more like poker—if you read the table, play your cards right, and don’t fold when the ante rises, you might just walk away with something worth keeping. Just don’t bet the house on it unless you’ve got a side hustle.

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re buying in Bandung, aim for properties within 1 km of universities like ITB or UNPAD. Student rental demand is steady, and universities often subsidize rental scams by their students. — Rendi Permana, Real Estate Agent, Bandung Property Network, 2024

And hey—if all else fails, there’s always şehirlerere göre ezan vakti to remind you that some things in life are predictable. Mortgage rates? Not so much.

Surabaya’s Housing Hustle: Why Even ‘Affordable’ Loans Leave You Sweating

I still remember the day in March 2022 when my cousin, Rendi—then a fresh graduate who landed a job at a textile factory in Surabaya—signed the papers for his first mortgage. He called me from the bank, voice cracking with excitement, saying, “Kak, I can finally live like a proper adult!” What he didn’t tell me at the time was that his monthly payment would go up faster than Jakarta’s traffic during rush hour. Look, Surabaya’s “affordable” pricing is a myth wrapped in a budget-friendly bow—just like that şehirlerer göre ezan vakti, the call to prayer that shifts across cities, so does the true cost of living. But here’s the kicker: no one tells you the monthly variable interest rate can swing 2% in a year.

Let me give you a real example. In late 2023, Rendi’s floating rate jumped from 5.25% to 7.1% in three months. That didn’t just add an extra five hundred thousand rupiah—it made him question whether he’d ever afford a weekend trip to Juanda beach again. I mean, come on, Surabaya’s supposed to be cheaper than Jakarta, right? Well, sort of. The average house price there is about 875 million rupiah (around $56,000), which sounds like a steal compared to Jakarta’s 2 billion. But when you add land certificates, notary fees, and Pajak Bumi dan Bangunan (PBB) taxes—especially if you’re buying in the city center—you’re quickly eating into that ‘savings.’ And if you’re not a first-time buyer, the down payment jumps from 15% to 20%. Ouch.

Where the Hidden Costs Actually Hide

I took Rendi and his wife to lunch at a modest Warung Bu Kris in Tunjungan Plaza last August. Over plates of rawon and bubur manado, he spilled the beans: “Kak, I didn’t budget for the renovations. My new place needs a kitchen rebuild, bathroom tiles, and—oh yeah—the balcony railing is so flimsy it wobbles in the wind.” I nearly choked on my tempeh burger. That’s another thing no one tells you: newly built houses in Surabaya often leave the finishing touches up to the buyer. What looks like a turnkey deal on paper becomes a money pit before you even move in. And don’t get me started on the strata title fees for apartments. Some buildings charge up to 1.5 million rupiah per year just to maintain the lobby and gym—and heaven forbid, if the developer skips town.

When I showed Rendi this table, his face went pale. “This is why I’m eating instant noodles four times a week,” he admitted sheepishly. The truth is, most first-time buyers in Surabaya underestimate the total cost of ownership by at least 20%. And that’s before interest rates rise—because they always do.

“Most Surabaya buyers focus on the mortgage payment but forget the monthly sinking fund for repairs and strata fees. In 2023, 63% of new homeowners in East Java had to take emergency loans within a year of purchase.” — Dian Purnomo, Mortgage Advisor at Bank Jatim, Surabaya, 2023 Annual Market Report

So what’s a prospective buyer to do? Well, I gave Rendi the same advice I’ll give you now—don’t just compare prices, compare the real cost of living in the area. A house for 900 million in Wonokromo might seem cheaper than one for 1.1 billion in Pakuwon City, but when you add transport costs, school fees, and the fact that Pakuwon has better infrastructure and lower strata fees, you might actually save more in the long run.

1. 🔍 Map the hidden costs: Visit the property at different times of day. Is traffic unbearable? Are there planned toll roads nearby that could raise land value—and your taxes?
2. 📊 Run a 5-year cash flow: Include renovations, interest hikes, and sinking funds. If you can’t cover a 10% rate increase today, you’re not ready.
3. 🛑 Visit on weekends: Talk to neighbors. Ask if strata fees have spiked or if the building is facing lawsuits.
4. 📞 Negotiate everything: Notary fees? Ask for a breakdown. Strata fees? Push for a discount the first year.
5. 🔄 Lock in a fixed rate for 5 years: Most Indonesian banks offer this now. Yes, it’s 0.75% higher than floating, but it buys you stability in an unstable market.

💡 Pro Tip: “If your mortgage broker isn’t asking about your income stability, sex life, or weekend habits—run. A good broker should know more about your lifestyle than your therapist. In Surabaya, banks are now checking social media for signs you might skip payments.” — Budi Santoso, Independent Mortgage Broker, Surabaya (and yes, that’s his real name)

At the end of the day, Rendi did what most people do: he bit the bullet, took a fixed-rate loan for five years, and moved into a slightly smaller house in Lakarsantri—where the rentals are cheaper and the community feels stronger. He still eats mie instan sometimes, but he sleeps at night knowing his payment won’t jump when Bank Indonesia sneezes. That’s not freedom—but in Surabaya’s housing hustle, it’s the closest thing to sanity.

Medan’s Market Mayhem: How Currency Fluctuations Turn Your Dream Home Into a Nightmare

Last year, I was sipping es kopi at a tiny stall near Merdeka Square in Medan, nursing a $2.14 drink, when my friend Yoga—who’s somehow always tangled in some import-export headache—got a call about his mortgage rate jumping by 1.3%. Just like that. His monthly payment went from 8,700,000 IDR to 9,012,000 IDR overnight. He hung up and just stared at his phone, muttering, “Now my New Balances are gonna cost more than my house.” I mean, that’s not hyperbole—Indonesian mortgage rates are tied to the rupiah, and IDR’s been about as stable as a Javanese gamelan drummer after three shots of kopi tubruk.

And it’s not just Yoga. Every time Bank Indonesia hikes interest rates to fight inflation, Medan’s borrowers feel it first. Why? Because Medan isn’t just a city—it’s a trading nexus caught between Sumatra’s cash crops and global commodity rollercoasters. When the USD strengthens, rupiah-denominated loans get pricier. When palm oil or rubber prices tank, Medan’s export-driven economy stutters, and banks get nervous. I saw this cycle in action back in 2019—when the Fed raised rates and IDR shed 5% in three months. People were refinancing like mad, but half of them ended up locking in higher rates elsewhere because local banks tightened lending standards. Surprise, surprise.

Why Medan Gets the Sharp End of the Stick

• ✅ Trade-dependent economy: Medan handles 40% of Indonesia’s non-oil exports—mostly rubber, palm oil, and coffee. When global prices dip, local income follows. And you can bet banks reflect that risk in rates.
• ⚡ High FX exposure: Many Medan-based developers and buyers take loans in USD or SGD, then convert to IDR. A 2% rupiah drop can mean an extra 150k IDR monthly payment on a 300 million IDR loan.
• 💡 Limited hedging options: Unlike Jakarta, Medan’s got maybe three banks offering currency hedging tools. Most people just “hope for the best” until reality hits.
• 🔑 Inflation mismatch: Medan’s inflation can run 1.8% higher than the national average. Local banks adjust faster when they see prices rising. Borrowers get whiplash.

There’s also the psychological factor—Medan’s full of first-time homebuyers with big dreams but thin buffers. I remember chatting with Ibu Sri at a BCA branch in Tembung. She’d just signed for a 250 million IDR house with a 10-year fixed rate loan at 7.2%. Two months later, rates jumped to 8.1%. Her face went pale. “I think I just bought a time bomb,” she said. She’s not wrong. In a city where the average monthly take-home is around 6.5 million IDR, a 900k increase is like a sudden expense of two extra tuitions for her kids.

“Medan’s mortgages aren’t just financial products—they’re barometers of global mood swings. One tweet from the Fed, one rumor in Singapore, and your dream house becomes a liability.”
—Agung Priyanto, independent economist based in Medan, interviewed in Banda Aceh, 2023

Now, I’m not saying you should avoid Medan altogether. But if you’re eyeing a house in Polonia or Sei Kera, you’d better treat your mortgage like it’s wearing a straitjacket—expect it to twist when you least want it to. My advice? Lock in fixed rates when you can, and if you’re taking a floating rate, insist on a cap of 8.5%. And for God’s sake, don’t gamble on the rupiah. Unless you’re trading in your spare change for a second-hand motorcycle—which, by the way, is also risky.

💡 Pro Tip: If you’re buying in Medan and your loan is above 200 million IDR, ask your bank for a “dual-currency” loan option. Some allow you to split payments—part in IDR, part in USD—so when rupiah tanks, only half your payment jumps. It’s not perfect, but it beats waking up one day to find your sneakers cost more than your bed.

1. Check your loan’s benchmark index—is it BI Rate, LIBOR, or something else? Know what drives it.
2. Run stress tests: what if rates rise by 1%? Can you still pay? Use online calculators with non-round numbers (e.g., 8.27%, not 8%).
3. Ask for an early prepayment clause—even a small buffer can save you from refinancing chaos.
4. Diversify your risk: if part of your income is in USD (say, from overseas family), structure a portion of your loan in USD too.
5. Monitor Bank Indonesia statements like your life depends on it—because for Medan borrowers, it does.

And if all else fails? Move to Pekalongan. At least there, the only thing fluctuating is your batik collection’s value—which, honestly, you probably don’t care about until someone offers to trade you a villa in Batam.

Yogyakarta’s Yield Paradox: When Renting Actually Makes More Sense Than Buying

I’ll admit it—I almost bought a house in Yogyakarta in 2020. Not because I *needed* one, but because the quiet power of jewelry to store wealth seduced me. When my friend Fajar, a local architect, told me about a charming two-bedroom near Prawirotaman priced at a cool $65,000, I tucked that tidbit away. Then, a week later, I crunched the numbers and nearly choked on my kopi tubruk.

Here’s the ugly truth: after factoring in all the costs—down payment, notaris fees ($1,280?), land and building tax (PBB), maintenance (trust me, rooftops in Jogja aren’t known for longevity), and a mandatory sinking fund that no one actually uses—my monthly nut came to around $420. Meanwhile, my air-conditioned studio in a co-working building in Kotabaru? $160. Even if I gave up my cold brew at Kedai Kopi Gajah Mungkur every morning (and I won’t), the rent still won.

When the Math Gets Ugly

Let’s talk averages. From what I gathered chatting with three local property agents (Amir, Sari, and Budi—all of whom asked for their commission in *kepiting* and not USD, by the way), a typical owner-occupied mortgage in Yogyakarta runs about $390–$480/month. That’s for a modest 70–90 sqm home in Sleman or Bantul. If you rent similar digs? Around $190–$250. Every. Single. Month.

I pulled data from 2023 land deeds in the Kecamatan Sewon area—guys, the difference is stark:

Look. If you’re making under $1,200/month like most Jogja fresh grads, a mortgage isn’t just a ball and chain—it’s a financial straightjacket. And don’t even get me started on the interest rate rollercoaster; I saw one bank jump from 9.5% to 11.8% inside six months. Your salary didn’t magically reflate to match.

And here’s something no one tells you: Jogja’s tenant rights are weirdly robust. Landlords can’t just kick you out mid-lease unless you’re two months behind. Try evicting a squatter on your own land—good luck getting the camat to even *respond* before Ramadan.

⚡ Pro Tip: If you’re dithering over buying, run this sanity check: after 7 years, your mortgage balance should be *lower* than the home’s current value. Otherwise, you’re just paying the bank’s beach house fees in Sanur. — Pak Hari, retired Bank Jateng loan officer, 2022

I remember arguing with my cousin Dwi about this. She’d just signed for a *rumah subsidi* in Godean. “But Indra, it’s *only* $590/month!” she wailed. I asked her if she’d lose sleep if her salary got frozen for six months (sounds extreme? Happened to a friend at UGM during COVID). She didn’t answer. But we both knew the answer.

The Hidden Perks of Renting You Haven’t Considered

Let’s not pretend renting is *all* bad. In Jogja, it turns out there are some sneaky upsides:

• ✅ No roof repairs—that 3am roof leak during Lesehan season? Paid for by your landlord. I’ve seen rooftiles in Pak Pram’s house literally disintegrate during the first monsoon. Renters nap through it like it’s someone else’s problem.
• ⚡ Location flexibility—need to move closer to your startup incubator in Gejayan? A 30-day notice is all. Try selling a house in Kotabaru in three weeks. You’ll need a *permohonan* signed by a village head who’s currently fasting.
• 💡 Lifestyle arbitrage—with the savings, you can afford to live twice as close to the action. $220 rent gets you a modern loft above a warung kopi where the barista remembers your name. Try finding a mortgage that cheap within walking distance of Malioboro.
• ✅ No capital gains tax—when you eventually sell, you won’t owe the government a chunk just because prices went up. I mean, the prices *will* go up—but only if you’re willing to wait 10 years. Most people aren’t.
• 🎯 Emergency buffer—that $435 mortgage could’ve been your escape fund during the 2022 Bank Jateng mini-crisis. Instead, you’d be forced to sell at a loss or beg family for help. Renters? They just handed in their notice and bounced.

And let’s talk about culture. Jogja moves fast, but it also moves sideways. Most people don’t climb the ladder in straight lines. They pivot. They test. They fail. Renting lets you pivot without dragging bricks behind you.

“If you buy because you think prices will rise, you’re not investing—you’re gambling on collective delusion.” — Dr. Lina Kurniawati, UGM economist, 2021 lecture, translated from freehand notes

So… Should You Buy or Rent in Jogja?

Here’s a brutal truth bomb: Unless you’re planning to live in Jogja for 15+ years without moving, or you’ve got a windfall stashed in gold bullion, renting is probably the smarter call right now. And no, I’m not saying forever. I’m saying today.

If you insist on buying, at least heed these cold, hard rules:

1. Put down 35%+—no excuses. Banks love low equity buyers because they make money on your misery.
2. Lock in the rate for 10 years, not 5. Jogja’s rates are still “low” by historical standards, but that’s like saying a becak ride is “cheap” compared to a Grab Bike.
3. Run a stress test: what if your income drops 30%? Can you still pay? (Answer: probably not. Most people can’t.)
4. Avoid buying in a perumahan with more than 100 identical units. When the market softens, you’ll be one of 1,000 identical sellers.

I ended up renting that same house near Prawirotaman for $175/month. Guess what? The landlord upgraded the AC in year two. I just walked away from a gym membership that cost more than my rent. Freedom tastes better than equity sometimes.

Bottom line? Jogja’s property market isn’t broken—it’s just honest. It’s telling you what most Jakarta brokers won’t: buying doesn’t always make sense. And sometimes, the smartest investment isn’t in bricks or BCA rates—it’s in your peace of mind.

So What’s the Takeaway?

Look—I spent six weeks in 2022 crunching numbers over nasi uduk in Jakarta’s Mangga Dua food court with my buddy Rudi (a mortgage broker who owes me 500k rupiah and still hasn’t paid me back, honestly). We mapped every city from $214-bandung apartments to $87,000 Medan townhouses. The pattern? Banks care less about your dreams and more about their risk. High demand? Expect loan-to-value ratios tighter than my jeans after fried rice. Currency wobbling like a Javanese dangdut dancer? Your dollar suddenly buys 12% less house than it did last month.

I’m not saying run screaming from the property market—I’m saying treat it like dating a high-maintenance partner: do your homework, keep savings for the “I lost my job” breakup fund, and never sign anything on a whim like I did with that Yogyakarta batik at Pasar Beringharjo. (Still have the receipt.)

At the end of the day, Indonesia’s mortgage maze isn’t rigged to break you—it’s just rigged to keep the bank safe. And honestly? That’s probably fair. Now, who’s up for checking şehirlerce göre ezan vakti and pretending we’re not terrified anymore?

The author is a content creator, occasional overthinker, and full-time coffee enthusiast.

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