I was fortunate to live in the United States for more than two years. I never thought I could spend my youth in another people's land. It was weird when I first set foot on Washington, D.C. Everything was so different.

I felt so lonely when the driver took me from the airport to my hotel. I didn't see many people on the streets, a scene that I always saw in Jakarta.

During my first three months I thought I wouldn't be able to survive. I couldn't stop thinking about the life I had left in Jakarta. I could remember all the laughter that I had shared with friends and family. I knew I couldn't enjoy that kind of life anymore in Washington, D.C.

But then I found something unique about life in America, or at least in some parts of America. It was something I couldn't find at home. For the very first time I realized that walking on the sidewalk while enjoying the fresh weather was so delightful.

For the very first time I realized that reading a book on a clear sunny day was one of the greatest things in this life. It was so refreshing.

In America I stopped completely at any stop sign although no car was coming toward me. Somehow I felt proud that I could follow the law even though nobody was watching me.

I started to enjoy living in America.

Now that I've been in Jakarta, the place I will always call home, for more than a week, I feel lost. It's hard to enjoy the kind of life I had when I have to struggle so hard everyday, fighting against crazy motorcycles and cars on the streets.

Driving in Washington, D.C., was an effective relaxation for me. In Jakarta it's a different story; it's a war. This head seems to explode.

And it was a couple days ago that I first found out that going to Pondok Indah Mall 2 was no longer an exciting experience. I was surprised to know this fact, since hanging out at a mall was something I used to love so much.

I get so mad and angry seeing people in Jakarta breaking street rules so easily as if those signs were meant to be accessories. At first I told myself these people were barbaric, but then a friend of mine reminded me that I would eventually like them.

He suggested that I shouldn't be so American and said, "You're Indonesian, act like one."

He thought that I just needed to relax a little bit and accept that Indonesia is Indonesia. "It's just the way of life around here," he explained.

My friend might be right. I should stop complaining and start acting like a real Indonesian. Maybe I just have to get myself used to crossing the red light when cops aren't around. I used to do it before anyway.

I want to fight, but I guess it's impossible. I guess I'm just going to have to follow my friend's suggestion and accept that Indonesia will always be Indonesia.

From my deepest heart, I feel so sad. I feel like I want to be a different kind of Indonesian, the kind of Indonesian that I never became. It would be a dream comes true if I could say to my friends how proud I am of becoming a good and civilized Indonesian.

It would be so wonderful if I could tell my friends how I have been driving like a civilized person following every traffic sign and respecting pedestrians.

I bet it would be amazing if I could tell my friends how I had been participating in saving the environment, how I don't throw trash anywhere like I used to.

But it's not easy to be the kind of Indonesian I want to be in this city. It's so hard for me to be a good Indonesian when people around me don't think that being Indonesian also means that you can dream big and be different.

It's so hard for me to be the kind of Indonesian that I want to be when people look at me so weird just because I want to follow the right procedures.

And it's so hard for me to convince others how my willingness to do great change has nothing to do with my "Americanity". It's just simply because I've seen how other nations can be so much better than us and I think we can be like them too.

I'm not happy to admit this, but it's true: The whole condition doesn't seem to support me and more likely I will become Indonesian as much as I used to be.

The writer is a postgraduate student in Washington, D.C.

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