Post Twelve

Different parts of me come from different places.

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My inner child comes from Bronxville, New York. A quaint, suburban town, 14 miles north of Manhattan. The sunniest house on Sunnybrea Place was mine, and it was completed with a large pink cherry tree in the front yard. I always would dress up in a white tulle skirt that was too big for me- I had a large wooden clothespin at the back to hold it up. My curly blonde hair bounced as I ran and was covered with tiny blush petals from my tree that I purposefully sprinkled in my hair. My scabbed legs and dewy little grass-stained feet would climb up the thick trunk of the cherry tree, and I would sit and create fairytales in my head until the sun would set.

I would eat dinner on the windowsill overlooking yellow tulips, take bubble baths that smelt like artificial peaches and cream, and I would sneak spoonfuls and spoonfuls of Nutella that I was not allowed. Before bed, I would snuggle in my Dad's lap reading Penelope Jane, a storybook about a fairy that lived in a sock drawer, who loved eating croissants. As I would fall asleep, I could smell the residue of the peaches and cream soap on my pillow, that dripped off the ends of my golden ringlets.

Falls were filled with amber-colored trees, sticky Halloween candy fingers, polyester costumes, silly carved pumpkins, and marmalade skies. Winters were filled with peppermint swirled hot cocoas, fresh snowy footprints, hats and mittens, decorated pine trees, and Christmas movies on repeat. Spring was filled with days in my oversized yellow raincoat, afternoons on my swingset, dog walks while I scootered, and evenings in my cherry tree. Summer was filled with warm laughs, Coppertone sunscreen, salty air, and sunkissed cheeks and hair. A simple time, but a special one.

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My inner adventurer comes from Hong Kong. I moved away from everything I knew, and I was thrown into a life that completely juxtaposed my life from before. I was resentful- can't you tell? That said, those glass buildings that I used to wish were cherry trees, and that hot October air that I wanted to smell like crunchy autumn leaves soon became another part of me. It was another place I was from.

I traveled the world at such a young age. I ate dim sum in Beijing and went to the Expo in Shanghai. I saw the orange gates in Japan, rode horses in New Zealand, hiked in Nepal, and slept on a boat in Vietnam. I have left a little bit of me there and have taken a bit of the place with me everywhere I have been.

I always had a floor-length mirror outside of my bedroom. I remember standing in front of it on my first day of school as a nine-year-old. My uniform consisted of a navy blue skort with a white polo shirt. I had a heart-shaped clip in my hair, and I carried my blue and pink polka dot backpack that was monogrammed with my name in brown thread. I would walk out of my past that mirror every day before school, but next thing I knew, I was ten, then eleven, then I had boobs, then I would wear makeup, and next thing I knew I was fifteen and I was getting ready for my last day. Six years and six inches grown went by, and I was leaving my home.

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Once I returned from Hong Kong, I went straight off to boarding school in Connecticut and then straight off to college in California. Since March, I have now been "home" back in my little suburban town- but in a new house. Although my sheets still smell like my shampoo and perfume's residue, and my walls are painted my favorite color, I do not know if I am "from" here. I drive past my Sunnybrea house and cherry tree anytime I need to be physically reminded of home. I am "from" here, but I am also from all the places I have been. I am a child of consistency, a teenager of adventure, and a young woman of the unknown.

Where am I from?

I do not know, but I am okay with that. I guess different parts of me just come from different places.