I am from Blossom Ave,
from the yellow and brick house with green burly bushes.
I am from my grandmother’s warm sweet potato pie that is orange with flaky crusts and vanilla bean ice cream that tastes like Thanksgiving.
I am from my tree, Jerry who I always wished to swing and hang on but my mother’s call “no Nomsa, that hurts him” would never allow it.
I’m from the sneaking of the silver and green wrapped Hershey’s chocolates at Christmastime. From fireworks and princess pajamas on July 4th when daddy would carry my sleepy body up to my room and kiss me on the forehead.
I am from mommy’s voice reading my brother and me Goodnight Moon.
I am from the big white church with the pinkish pews with choirs singing and shouting praises and melodies while I color pictures of sunsets and kittens or sleep on my daddy’s lap. I’m from the repetitions of Exodus 4 and the Lord’s Prayer.
I’m from braids, barrettes and my bear Corduroy, who I held so tight while mommy was fixing my hair.
I am from sandboxes and monkey bars jealous of my brother who was able to sit on the top of the bars and taunt me.
I am from boisterous family gatherings on Saturday afternoons with endless laughter and chatter, mixing of English and my father’s mother tongue. I’m from nicknames of Peanut, Sweet Pea and Sasa.
I am from shouts of frustration about how I want to “quit, quit, quit” the piano because practice is too much work and never makes anything perfect.
I am from playing with play dough, making pink and purple pizzas and pies that stuck to the carpet.
I am from games of tic tac toe that mommy let me win; from paddycake with my grandma and from piggy back rides with my father on our long evening walks.
I’m from Broadway shows and Cirque Du Soleil where my hair would be curled in little ringlets and I would have my newest sundress on, complete with shimmery lip gloss.
I am from skate nights and sticky root beer floats; from giggles and excited screams at sleepovers with my best friends.
I am from chasing and catching butterflies in my backyard; from picking the mustard colored dandelions and burnt grasses.
I am from these moments and memories all spilling down around me. Ready to soon be packed away to continue the story of me.