I am from the hidden Spice Girls stickers in candy, from the bodega’s hot chocolates and its frozen
popsicles over the summer.

I am from a three story house that was too warm under the summer sun and too cold when the snow fell in heaps outside.

I am from the red roses that we picked from our neighbor’s yard as children, drinking the rose water from plastic tea cups.

I am from home cooked Indian meals, the broad shoulders of past warriors, and parents who never settle
for less.

I am from a family who was loud enough to stop traffic on Woodside Avenue.

From watching scary movies before bedtime and then fearing the monster in the TV would follow you into your room.

I am from those families that went to temple on a rare Sunday when Daddy felt connected to his roots
again.

I'm from Jalandhar, where the spicy samosas and rice brought water to your eyes and yet we kept on eating.

From the stern uncle who served in the army, the cheerful uncle dressed for the navy in white, and the uncle who left his home in search of the American dream.

I am from my Avril Lavigne and Backstreet Boys CDs that lie hidden in my memory box.