• Where I’m From

    I am from sugary donuts and bland bagels smeared with strawberry cream cheese,
    from the Discovery Zone and Children’s Museum.
    I am from a near drowning in the bathtub,
    from a granny that had taken the place of my mother within my heart.
    I am from the sweet taste of peaches and the juicy flesh of oranges,
    and from the bronze medals I’ve won in karate tournaments, reeking of coins.
    I am from the many times I’ve enjoyed rolling down the stairs,
    from the cheers for donuts in Pre-K.
    I am from huge, terrifying puppies chasing me around,
    and from the large violin I held, croaking a hideous melody.

    I am from the smoky odor of scorched toast,
    from some weird Chinese Temple in Austin,
    and from poking and kicking nonstop at people to irritate them.
    I am from the explosion of flimsy plastic sandwich bags,
    and from a thick, black seat belt wrapped around my neck.
    I am from the leaves soaring down from the family tree;
    one little breeze and they vanish without a trace.
    I am from the cold, sweet taste of shaved ice from CoCo’s Café;
    a mound of crushed ice drizzled with milk and syrup, topped with red beans and lychees.
    I am from ice cream and cheese,
    and from the bloody scenes of movies flashing across the TV screen.
    I am from the burnt stench of fireworks,
    dancing and exploding in the dark and crowded parking lot.
    I am from a near drowning in an eleven-foot-deep cruise pool
    where I was pulled in though I was on the edge of the pool.
    I am from chucking dodgeballs into opponents’ stomachs,
    from the forest of sunflowers I was once lost in,
    and from the metal of my violin strings, peeling away.

    I am from the blood-boiling feeling of fighting;
    prodding, socking, poking, chucking, and kicking at numerous irritating dopes.
    I am from the cold, squishy, and savory taste of once-frozen raw fish in my mouth,
    from the 2-D avatars clashing on my monitor.
    I am from the splits, bridges, and one-handed cartwheels I did during dance classes,
    and from the gory scenes of movies both on screen and compiled into a single graphic novel.
    I am from the musky scent of pen ink, sharpie, expo, glue,
    and from chewed-up number two pencils with staples stuck inside.
    I am from mochi, ramen, sushi, sashimi, and ugani,
    and from random little words I know in Japanese, such as bank and cake.
    I am from the jelly-like texture of mashed bananas,
    from the bright red bucks my grandparents gave me.
    I am from the sticky texture of honey and chocolate syrup,
    and from the cracked violin, sitting in its case.