I am an optimist,
as designated by my friends.

Everyone dies eventually, says one, no matter who they are, what they do.
But everyone is alive right now, I reply, everyone alive, is not dead yet.

I am an expert at adaptation,
according to my parents.

It looks like we'll be moving, offers my mother, with a hesitant smile.
Where to? I ask, eyes sparkling, smile seemingly real.

I am a genius,
if my grandparents are consulted.

You're taking three languages, and two math classes? she exclaims, again.
Yes, grandma, I repeat, rolling my eyes internally.

Truth be told,
I am an optimist, if someone insists on being pessimistic.
I am good at adapting, when the need arises.
I am a genius when I work hard, though only to my grandparents.
I am whatever the world perceives me to be, until I change its perception.

Yet then I still am, as the world perceives me, they simply perceive me differently.