I am from quiet struggle.
I am from piles of books,
from good education and quiet personality.
I am from a big yard of grass,
but no one to play with.

I am from three older siblings,
all grown up with no time for me.
I am from hot fudge brownies,
from rare evenings of cookies on trays.

I am from music,
from being forced to play long hours of piano,
at only six years old.
I am from fun outside traded in for legs swinging alone on that black, shiny piano bench.

I am from “do it yourself, you’re old enough” to “I can, but you’re too young.”
I am from strict expectations of the “best” grades from school, not “do your best” grades.
I am from long nights and early mornings,
eyes strained from reading textbooks too long, from studying too hard.

I am from a life path already carved out for me,
by my parents and their “I know better than you.”
I am from a long, difficult path awaiting – full of top colleges, and medical school, and then becoming a doctor.
I am from a rigid family, of paranoid, of safety, of no sleepovers, of little fun with friends, of many hours of study.

I am from loving, but strict parents.
I am from caring, but distant siblings.
I am from a family who knows how to love, but not how to show it.
I am from childhood memories I’d rather not remember and a future I’d rather not have.
I am from struggling to be grateful and remembering to live in the moment.
I am from pieces of these moments, strung together to create me, stamped on the mark I hope to leave on this world.