I’m from the vast cornfields and plains of Illinois,
the tangled hair and sticky sunscreen from weekends at the lake and
the summer night shifts spent at an understaffed nursing home
where I talk to residents about their lives and they share with me their wisdom.

I’m from the dusty uniform that created my softball tan lines,
the laughs with my friends,
and the beat up Ford truck my dad drives
filled with fishing poles, plywood, and tools.

I’m from the Friday nights spent on the sidelines with the players and yelling football coaches.
The boxes and boxes of pictures and scrapbooks.
The millions of alarms I set for myself,
that blare the same Luke Bryan song.

I’m from the Bath and Body Works candles my mom lights in the fall,
when I walk outside to leaves crunching beneath my feet.
Mom’s apple pie and Grandma’s brownies,
both of whom don’t share their recipes.

I’m from the One Direction poster covered room that once was,
and the money spent on Tiger Beat, JVibe, and Seventeen magazines,
so I could plaster Niall Horan and Harry Styles on my bright yellow walls,
and the four concerts attended just to be in the same arena as them.

I’m from the salty air breeze from summers spent at Wrightsville Beach,
where we ended up as red as tomatoes and in severe pain,
where I spent the day building sand castles when I was little,
and where I attended all four of my cousins weddings.

I’m from all of these memories and all of those yet to come,
the horrendous boy bands and the summer vacations,
from playing softball and the hours working as a CNA.
These moment shaped me into who I am today.