American?

I'm becoming more American.  Or maybe just more of the stereotype. In the states, I was the 'lets get Indian food tonight or oooo there's a new French bakery kind a gal. Only under the cover of a late night out, would I wind up at a fast food joint. Here, America is packaged into a neat box labeled KFCMickeyBK. The more pressure I feel to assimilate, the more I drown myself in the greasy eats. It's the burgers, the botoxed fries, the lifeless lettuce thats got me cheesing. I latch onto anything that reminds me of home and somehow here, it's all better than gold. 

I want this experience to be an exchange. I haven't found the balance yet. I've had to adapt to so much so quickly, that I forget what it's like to be American. What does that even mean? American. I can talk about Indonesian culture more easily. I'm envious that they're so proud. So united. I don't think I've ever felt either back home. Their culture is so rich and they're so set on protecting it. To mask my jealousy, I guess I'm hyping up fast food chains…(really mani) I've got to find a better representation than pizzahut. It's hard to be an example of my culture, when I am mimicking another but I guess thats what I do. My mother calls me the chameleon. I love to absorb new things. But a chameleon has no place. It just moves and transforms it's skin to blend, but it's never the tree or leaf it clings to. I might've come to Indonesia thinking I'd find a home. That who I was would make more sense. I don't know. I'm afraid if I let go and just change skin again, I'll never know.