I come from a city of green and landscapes so fertile and beautiful that it's difficult to understand how quickly I morphed into an urban girl. I come from a childhood that taught me that other people are important. For that reason, others always come first, no exceptions. I come from various families that harbored me and raised me. I live with one, but I belong to many.
I come from a place that wronged me as much as it helped me. From a town that, once I left, never welcomed me back. I come from the mistakes I've made, both stupid and ones that even parents, now, would make. I come from the hardened shells that are my parents and the too-much grandma. I come from a world full of secrets I've yet to uncover.
I come from subways and train stations and traveling because I don't come from any one place. I come from Staten Island, Manhattan, and Brooklyn, but I came from Ukraine first. I come from the words spoken to me throughout the years, words still safe in my heart. I come from life, though I've seen people leave through death. I come from the words my hand forms with blue ink.
I come from the blue sky and the stars when the sky gets dark. I come from trees and trees and forests and mountains and oceans, because that's what I love, but I also come from skyscrapers, graffiti, smoke, and so much traffic, because that's where I belong.