age one:
There I was, crying straight out. At least, I would think so based on how other babies react to coming here, to this world. Whenever I think back to that hospital in Baton Rouge, I always wonder. Did I cry? Or was I one of those psychopathic babies who would just stare?
age two:
There I was, in some stranger's home. It's weird when you really think about foster care. The government decides where you belong, and you have no choice, even though you will live the rest of your life based on someone else's decisions. I always wonder, how was I treated then? What did I do in those days of different homes every week?
age three:
There I was, still lying in a stranger's house. I wonder if I knew what the end goal was at that age. Who knew trying to get adopted took so long? And who was going to tell me when I had to leave? 
age four: 
There I was, back where I belonged for the time being. It's a cruel thing to think about the short time I was with her. No amount of time could prepare me for the next step in my life. I always wonder, did she fight for me the way she was supposed to? Or did the drugs matter more?
age five:
There I was, in a puffy white dress, standing next to my social worker and my new family. "This is your mom and dad, okay sweetheart?" Now the social worker could walk away, patting herself on the back for a job well done. I always wonder, does that worker wonder where I ended up? Or does she continue to leave people in the hands of strangers?
age six:
There I was, living in Japan with my parents and a newly born sister. She cried. A lot. On the plane ride there, she cried. On the train ride to our new house, she cried. I always wonder, what was she crying for? Was she crying because she missed home? Or was she crying because she knew she should've been the oldest child?
age seven:
There I was, back home in Louisiana, this time with my mom pregnant with a brother. Before long, we had another blonde little kid running around the place. I always wonder, if my mom could get pregnant, why did they adopt me? Was I their charity case? Or was there a deeper meaning?
age eight:
There I was, the new kid at my new school. Even with a past of moving around a lot, I could never get used to being labeled as "the new girl". It was isolating and I hated it. I always wonder, were my friends from elementary school real? Or were they just being nice to the loner?
age nine:
There I was, crying in the outside bathroom at school. Another boy pulled my hair in class today. "Even though you're the smartest, you're the ugliest and the fattest." Young kids knew to punch where it hurts. I always wonder, do my self-esteem issues stem from that incident? Did I start to lose weight because of that incident? Or was I always meant to be like this?
age ten:
There I was, scared to raise my hand in class. I was terrified to bring attention to myself, terrified of what people may think of me. "Ugh, there she goes, always answering. What a teacher's pet." Instead, I rolled my eyes, laughed, and sat in the back of the class. My grades were still 100s, but I never acted like it. I always wonder, did the people I hung out with like me? Or did they just like that I was another good kid they "converted"?
age eleven:
There I was, biting my tongue while someone else talked. I no longer pretended to be the good girl. I always knew the answer and was always willing to help, but you never crossed me. I always had the best comeback. I always wonder, were people actually scared to talk to me? Or did my facade make me weak?
age twelve:
There I was, getting ready to go to my last day of middle school. One last time, I would put on the navy blue collared shirt and khaki shorts. One last time would I ride the bus and scream Paramore lyrics at the top of my lungs. One last time, I would hug my best friend and laugh at the teachers and be a preteen. I always wonder, did I know I was going to miss those days? Did I treasure them enough? Or did I take my youth for granted?
age thirteen:
There I was, another kid in the halls of the Catholic high school. All the girls were wearing plaid skirts and had flat ironed hair; all the guys wore fake gold chains and smiles that had worn braces for years. I always wonder, did I stick out with my curly hair and freckles? Did my ability to speak Spanish even though my parent couldn't freak them out? Or did they not notice me at all? 
age fourteen:
There I was, fitting right in with the rest of the crowd. My curly hair had been continuously run through a $100 flat iron, my freckles had been hidden behind a $40 foundation, my Spanish hidden behind the slang the kids at school used. I was no different, and I enjoyed it. I always wonder, why did I change so much? Did I change because I wanted to fit in? Or was it because I couldn't bear repeating what happened when I was nine years old?
age fifteen:
There I was, watching this senior girl from across the gym. I was drawn to her smile, her laugh. "Why am I feeling like this?" The way she flipped her hair made my stomach turn. When she looked at me and smiles politely, I quietly gasped. I always wonder, why did I suppress my emotion when I knew exactly what I wanted? Was I scared of what people thought? Or was I scared that I no longer knew what I wanted?
age sixteen: 
There I was, with hair cut to my collarbones, a nose piercing, and six piercings on each ear. I no longer pretended to belong at that Catholic school where no one spoke two languages, no one dreamt of getting tattoos, and no one even knew what the word bisexual meant. I always wonder, what made me change? Was it that girl kissing me in the summer? Was it watching my best friend fall in love with someone else? Or was it that I was no longer scared of that boy who pulled my hair when I was nine?