I am from
the harsh biting wind
on a chilly night
in the “Windy City”
to the thick humid air
on a sweltering day
Of the populated Shanghai.

I am from
the pine smell
of sticky amber rosin,
the dynamic melody
expelled from
the wooden keys
of a piano.

I am from
an old dusty pair
of tiny pale pink ballet shoes –
a memory of what used to be
to the hues
of oil paints
pure and brilliant.

I am from
the enticing smell
of sticky white rice
releasing swirls
wisps of smoke,
the clean wooden smell
of brand-new books –
an adventure contained
in crisp flawless pages

I am from everywhere
from a time
of a worn baby blankie
to the plastic colored Legos
and finally to the futuristic metal iPod.