I am from the sunny days of feeding ducks.
From accompanying my grandmother in the kitchen
From waking up at four am
And seeing my father off to work.
From laughing with my mother
And seeing movies with my friends.
I am from the aromas of the cookies my brother sometimes makes
From tasting the sauce of the spaghetti my dad makes
From the smell of my mother’s perfume
And my flower-scented one.
From root beer scented pencils
And scratch-and-sniff cards.
I am from the classroom where I learn
From the house where I hear my mom calling my name
From a different house where I taught my sister ABC and 123
From the hospital I visited people
From the library I spend hours in
I am from getting lost in books
From dancing along to the radio
From my left hand hurting from writing a story
From taking care of my little sister and brother
From singing slightly off key to my favorite songs.
I am from the hardships of life
From dealing with bullies, enemies, and frenemies
From losses in the family and near-losses of friends
From struggling with grades and health
From my anti-socialness and self-esteem.
This is where I am from.
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