I am from...

September 17, 2008
By Anonymous

I am from Grandma’s Christmas cookies, sugar figurines that tantalize taste buds.
From yearning to go on the merry-go-round one last time, the jaunty tune ringing in my ears.
From the sand lingering in the bottom of my bathing suit, the beach sending me a souvenir.
Of callous words and disdainful looks that come from tracking mud throughout a spotless home.
Of the mouth-watering aroma of the Thanksgiving turkey.
From the happy “slurp” that comes from the grateful dog eating your revolting cabbage under the table.
Of reading long after midnight on a school night, face falling into the scorching hot oatmeal in the morning.

I am from flute music, notes dancing on the bracing night air, practicing till I see blood on my finger tips.
From wondering if I’ll ever be best at anything, insecurity spreading within me like an ominous monster.
Of my Italian grandpa saying “Bella, bella, bella” whenever he sees me and wondering if I am remotely beautiful.
From bad, busted, boring, and altogether heart-bruising days, keeping in thoughts that should be told.
From thinking about not hurting other peoples’ feelings before hurting my own.
Of the confused tears that dart down my face when I want to do right, yet don’t know what right is…

I am from the person that still remains after the shell has been cracked opened, the person inside that is small, nervous and quiet.

I am from questioning and never knowing the answers.

The author's comments:
This is where I'm from

what about you?

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