I am from the third floor that looks down at the glistening pool, from the planted pathway leading towards the open parking garage, past the smelly dumpster.




I am from my home, where my sister’s bed is always unmade, from my bunk bed where my stuffed animals eye me as I go to bed, from nosy siblings that can blackmail.




I am from the window that looks out at Jonas Salk, where children play, from the Mr. B’s crowded with cars, blocking the pathway as careless people make conversation.




I am from my special creaky swing at Polliwog Park, from the strolls down the pier, looking at the water through the slits on the boardwalk.




I am from memories at Kayla’s house, where once you’re in, you’re never out, from Santa Rosa, where the gang meets up and has some fun.




I am from the smell of “orange pasta” cooking at the stove. I am from my mom’s “don’t eat me alive!” from my dad’s “never take actions… into your own hands”. From the long car rides filled with lectures and discussions using corny sayings.



I am from writing with my purple pen, from reading until dawn. I am from watching movies non-stop and hanging at the mall.



I am from all I’ve ever done, from what I’m going to be. I’m from everything and everyone. I’m from what’s inside of me.