i am

a while ago, i began to write an entry about my childhood. i never finished it, though. i guess because i didn't know how to. i left it as a draft, but i'll publish it now for anyone who wants to read an incomplete entry.

anyway. the reason it's incomplete is because it doesn't even begin to wrap up everything that i could say about my history. if i had time and words, i could go on for pages, explaining what my life was like. but i don't have the energy to do that. and today i thought about that "I Am..." poem that gero had us write, and how it sums up everything quite nicely, even though some parts are downsized, and some of the smaller parts of my life were played up because they were better memories. not bigger or more significant in making me, but they were better.

so that other entry is in the link up above, if you so desire to see it, and here is what I had to say about me:

I am from
newspapers on the dinner table,
piles of papers on the floor,
books littered in every corner,
and old files collecting dust.
I am from
frames on the walls with pictures
of babies with bowl hair-cuts,
a sewing machine in the garage,
translation dictionaries, stacks of
DVDs, and
a lovely mess.

I am from
weeds in the yard,
kittens sleeping in flower pots,
stray cats crying,
and
laundry hanging on the line.
I am from
autumn leaves in the street,
cherry blossom trees,
and grass
grass that's greener on the other side.

I am from
late nights, and
arguments over who gets to use the computer.
I am from
Alda and Gary, and
Cousin Connie and her Baby Joshua.
My two older sisters and I get to spoil him.
I am from
Grandma, and
a red face with a mustache,
screaming irrationally about nothing.

I am from
rice and chopsticks,
home-cooked dinners
chicken, green beans, and soup
and
running to the kettle when it shrieks
because the water is boiling.


I am from
reminders of, "When I was little,"
and
comparisons to someone else's child.
I am from
"We don't have money," and
"One day," but not today,
really they mean never,
but that's okay.

I am from
red envelopes,
moon cakes, and
the embers of paper, and
smoke spiraling from the tips of the incense
for ancestors.
I am from
ointments that cure
everything
except fatal diseases.

I am from
my memory.
I am from
shoeboxes for storage, and
collections of useless things.
I am from
hand-me-downs,
the playground at the park,
trips to the flea market,
love for Toyota, and
the supermarket.
I am from
waking up to the pleasant sound of bickering,
and
fights erupting at 3 AM.
I am from
a distance.
I am from
love that doesn’t show it,
but still we know it.