I am from _written memoirs in outdated journals, from dull Rose Art pencils and from scars that have faded long ago
I am from numerous temporary homes whose rooms were filled with worried voices late at night; filled with conversation I could not yet understand. The single mother had fingers, but opportunities were like sand.
I am from the small white poppy that stands tall and alone in a meadow covered with snow, unafraid to bear the cold.
I am from long bed time stories, naivety, from Esther Hsu and Nick Chen
I was born from the tendency to love too much and trust too easily, but also blessed with the tendency to pursue knowledge with an open mind.
Disappointed by “Chloe, do you trust your daddy? ” and strengthened by “Chloe, don’t listen to them; they don’t know what they’re saying”
I am from an Earth that God once visited and left. I am not sure if He is missed.
I'm from Detroit, Michigan large bowls of homemade noodle porridge and fried Chinese new year’s cake.
From the time my mother met my father for the first time in four years since my infancy to deliver me to my father , the Christmas I wondered my mother did not receive any gifts and why I did., and the Asian thanksgiving dinners at home with red-faced and boisterous relatives.
I am from a large house in Texas I can no longer see. Near a pristine pool I once dove in to as a child to save a life whose meaning I did not know. Where I spent summers reflecting on my own vitality on a porch swing. I am from a past I abhor but will always follow me.