I am from the stubborn lemon sapling that refused to don yellow bulbs of promise, despite my mother's wishes,
from the Hollie Hobbie paintings of wispy bicycles on my peony walls.
I am from containers of Vaseline smeared on lips at night and the ever-growing succulents scattered among the kitchen windows.
I am from the tubes of sunblock that intoxicated my nose on hot summer days, from the worn-out, doggy-folded, water-stained pages of my favorite novels.
I am from the plane that took everything I am from one side of the continent to the other, from the city smells and urban wood colors of NYC to the colorful, sun-drenched scent of California.
I am from the dedication of my mother, the patience of my father, the laugh of my brother, the dance of his brother.
I am from gummy smiles and scratched glasses, from dyed hair and enveloping embraces.
I am from the papercuts of late-night projects,
from stains of color bleeding onto everything from watercolor paintings.
I am from the cold tiles of my home at night,
from the chlorine of my team's pool after practice.
I am from the faded stickers on laptop covers,
from the flashes of paragraphs snuck in at night when all are thought to be asleep.
I am from a loving family, one of the smell of garlic spices and stories told at night and comforting hands placed firmly on backs.
I am from the angels that watch over the soul of my kin, from the whispered hopes of dreams that sneak out of my mind.
I am from myself, and the world unto me.