I am from my backyard, from broken tables, old bikes,
From old fish bowls and a fishing rod I’ve never used,
To old soil and dead leaves on the wall.
I am from the kitchen, from foods like pasta, sushi, and cookies,
From the taste of many types of ice cream,
To the smell of fruits like peaches and oranges.
I am from my room, from stuffed animals and books,
From blankets petite and huge,
To boxes full of what others call trash that I keep.
I am from secret places, from journals,
From notebooks with my drawings, pictures, and words,
To pictures of me at almost all ages.
I am from my mother, my father,
From fifteen cousins, eight girls and seven boys,
To stories about life in Taiwan.
I am from my memories, from a massive family, spread apart,
And an infinite amount of different memories,
To feeling squished into a box, where sometimes, I cannot think straight.
