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Where I Am From

I am from worn, leather bound books, Nestle Abuelita, and loud mornings filled with
Cops reruns, barking dogs, and buttermilk waffles. I am from not one, but two homes. A rot iron
gate protecting the reminiscence of childhood memories while the other is simply a house with
four sturdy walls to keep me warm at night. I am from the daisy, thought to symbolize happiness
and positivity. I am from tamale enthusiasts, and sun kissed natives, from Martn del Campo, and
Muoz. I am from a mother who can never be wrong, and a father who is always right. From
tooth fairy believers, and Santa Claus dreamers. I am from a traditional Catholic household, yet I
am tied down to no religion. I am from a crowded Los Angeles suburb with too many
apartments, and low crime rates. I am from a mother who does not set foot in the kitchen, and a
father obsessed with chicken stir fry. I am from a garage filled with sawdust snowmen that never
manage to stay upright, yet always weasel their way into crevices I can never clean. I am from an
artistically gifted woodworker who always has new creations ready to be put into motion. I am
from an educated, cultured father who introduces me to many different things that I cherish, and
take comfort in. I am from the comforting smells of exotic and local woods that remind me I am
home. I am from burning incense that overpower my nostrils, and never-ending bamboo that
shade my living room. I am from nothing, yet have everything.