1. My flesh met the fogginess of the world, and I opened my eyes — so bright, too bright. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and when I was ready, my lips broke into a smile and my eyes lit up to meet love's, as so many leaned over and told me I was a miracle, a miracle, a miracle. I am joy.
2. I am strong now. I know to wail when I see the clouds and beam when I see the sun. I will waddle so fast that no one will be able to catch me, and I will wait for them, I will sunbathe in my own pride. Now, I know to cry when I hear thunder and laugh when I see the blue sky. I will dance when I see a rainbow. I am confidence.
3. Everything I touch is blanketed with a new quality. There is light, and color, and texture and smell and reality and emotion. The most random of moments solidify themselves forever in my mind, little do I know now. Memories. And these memories are beautiful things. They are glossy, and they glint in the light. Now that I have become a little person rather than a helpless nothing, I can hold them tight like precious treasures. And oh, aren't memories a wonderful thing? I know of their beauty. I am wisdom.
4. I haven't stepped a toe into that notorious thing called school yet, so for now, I am still free. For now, I can still play and jump and run and make shadow monsters on the tallest rock in the river, because I haven't learned enough to know better. My vocabulary extends beyond something countable on my fingers, and I wield it like a sword. I've always loved words. I speak and I do and touch and eat whatever I want, for now, and I enjoy the moment, because I don't know any better. Rather, any worse. I am freedom.
5. I move slowly, carefully. I dip one toe into the rainbow-carpeted classroom, and re-learned my ABC's. I am shy, apprehensive. I edge closer to some and further from others. I am still a mere witness to the world, not necessarily a part of it yet. I laugh without realizing it, which I will learn later is a beautiful thing. I laugh often. The teacher's voice is sweet and soft like caramel, like a goodnight lullaby, like the whistling of the wind, like new buds blooming into flowers, like molasses spreading on a pastry, like melted chocolate and raspberries, like a morning dove's call, like a freshwater spring, like fresh and warm bees' honey, like a song, a very nice song. There are so many things I don't know, but I am okay with that. I am patience.
6. I am strong now. I have suffered the tides of this thing called school, and I have learned to ride the waves, although I tumble from my board a few times more than my friends. I don't know why that is, but every tumble makes a good story. And I love stories. I write them, too, now that I know more words and letters and names. I cut up paper and tape it together, imagine worlds in purple crayon, just like Harold. (That's one of my favorite stories.) My eyes are wide open and my smile is clear. I tender a few friendships that will remain for seven years and counting. The horizon is bright and beautiful. I am readiness.
7. In the stories that I love so much, that annoying little sibling is always of or around my age. The one who doesn't realize the world doesn't revolve around them, supposedly. Except for that's ridiculous, because the world does revolve around me. I am careless and wild as I savor these last few years of innocence, this last stretch of time that comes before knowing. I ask questions just so I can brag about my own answer. But that's okay. I am the storybook crazy child. I am innocence.
8. Watch me speak, watch me dance, watch me smile. I've got it all figured out, haven't I just? I have learned more. I know my times tables up to 12, except I forgot 9 and 11 and 12. But that's okay, too. I have friends, wonderful friends, left and right. I've already bridged the little friendship dramas (those are for little kids, and I'm a big kid, now) and I am absolutely sure of everything I know. Watch me run, watch me win, watch me play. I am certainty.
9. Before I know it, some of my greatest achievements yet hit me, and I am on top of the world. These accomplishments define who I am, and who everybody thinks I am. I am young enough to believe that my authentic self is whoever everyone thinks I am. Even though I have no idea what the word "authentic" means. I go through phases: wanting glasses, wanting a dog, all the childhood staples. I vanquish foes and conquer the world, because that's just what I do and who I am right now. Secondary school lingers in view, but for now, I will still pretend to be a dragon on the firepole until the teacher tells me I'm not being safe with my body. This is my first hint of spite against public school. But that's a story for another time. For now, I vanquish foes and conquer the world. I am pride.
10. We're the only class in the whole wide school to still have snack time, but that's okay. I wear flower-printed dresses with long cardigans because trendiness barely exists yet. I am both over and under, above and below popularity, because its endless issues are so abundant in my past, and my future. Now, I sit at the same seat at the same lunch table every single day, with the same people, and our fingers become the legs of monsters, scampering across the cool plastic of our table. Even though I promise I won't, even though I promise I will just let a game be a game, I'll write a story about it when I get home. What could ever go wrong? I know what I love, and I know who I am. I am strength.
11. A few things could go wrong. The pandemic hits like a wrecking ball just before my birthday, and everything I know crashes and burns. But I was born at 11:11. My birthday comes and goes, rooting me in a newfound strength. On the ashes of climbing virus graphs, I find a new foundation and build something beautiful. I build every Sunday-night sleepovers, even though it's a school night. I build stories and words and I write whenever I manage to grasp a free second in between jamming to my playlist (because I've learned how to make playlists now, proudly) at one-hundred percent volume until my parents go mad. Somehow, I still haven't caught the many-legged virus that is wiping out our lives. I've smiled my way to strength. Somehow, in this foggy cloud of gray, I find light. I am optimism.
12. Having just settled into the luxurious pancake-breakfast-at-eleven-and-pajamas-to-school-at-home routine, the last thing I expect is for life to turn itself inside out all over again. The last thing I expect is to discover support that I never knew was out there. The last thing I expect is to find a home-away-from-home. Of course, until I do. It happens quickly, and it is gone as soon as it comes, as soon as I take a breath. But maybe that breath is all I need to pull me from this pain that I didn't know was there. I thought I knew who I was for all these years, but when I cried into the flames and laughed into the wind for the first time, I met a new version of myself. A version of myself that I loved inside and out, a version that could love inside and out. I am me.
13. I am night and day, light and darkness. I am the brightest flowers in your garden, I am the dancing flames in your woodstove. I am the sprinkles of snow on the mountains. I am the refreshing chill of the river. I am the words that twist and turn and evolve onto paper. I am the secrets that spill from your lips in a haze of metaphor and imagination. I am the love and the hate and the everything and the nothing you bury within you. I am the greatest real smile that stretches across your face, and lights it up like the sun. I am a poem.
14. Tell me I am still too young to ask, where did time go? I hold the memories close to my heart, and I remember that this is not the end. Somebody told me that there is a light at the end of this darkness. That somebody was the version of myself that could love and be loved. And I trust that somebody, that somebody who I know will return someday. I trust, even though I cannot yet see the light. So I will keep wading. I will keep trusting. I will remember that deep down, I am so much more. So much love, so much hate that I bury within me. I am everything and nothing. They tell me I need fixing. They tell me I am broken, but oh, how they are wrong. I am only lost. And I am coming to terms with that. Maybe that's okay. Maybe that notorious Not Knowing is okay. I am lost some days, but isn't everyone? I am ... I don't even know.
2. I am strong now. I know to wail when I see the clouds and beam when I see the sun. I will waddle so fast that no one will be able to catch me, and I will wait for them, I will sunbathe in my own pride. Now, I know to cry when I hear thunder and laugh when I see the blue sky. I will dance when I see a rainbow. I am confidence.
3. Everything I touch is blanketed with a new quality. There is light, and color, and texture and smell and reality and emotion. The most random of moments solidify themselves forever in my mind, little do I know now. Memories. And these memories are beautiful things. They are glossy, and they glint in the light. Now that I have become a little person rather than a helpless nothing, I can hold them tight like precious treasures. And oh, aren't memories a wonderful thing? I know of their beauty. I am wisdom.
4. I haven't stepped a toe into that notorious thing called school yet, so for now, I am still free. For now, I can still play and jump and run and make shadow monsters on the tallest rock in the river, because I haven't learned enough to know better. My vocabulary extends beyond something countable on my fingers, and I wield it like a sword. I've always loved words. I speak and I do and touch and eat whatever I want, for now, and I enjoy the moment, because I don't know any better. Rather, any worse. I am freedom.
5. I move slowly, carefully. I dip one toe into the rainbow-carpeted classroom, and re-learned my ABC's. I am shy, apprehensive. I edge closer to some and further from others. I am still a mere witness to the world, not necessarily a part of it yet. I laugh without realizing it, which I will learn later is a beautiful thing. I laugh often. The teacher's voice is sweet and soft like caramel, like a goodnight lullaby, like the whistling of the wind, like new buds blooming into flowers, like molasses spreading on a pastry, like melted chocolate and raspberries, like a morning dove's call, like a freshwater spring, like fresh and warm bees' honey, like a song, a very nice song. There are so many things I don't know, but I am okay with that. I am patience.
6. I am strong now. I have suffered the tides of this thing called school, and I have learned to ride the waves, although I tumble from my board a few times more than my friends. I don't know why that is, but every tumble makes a good story. And I love stories. I write them, too, now that I know more words and letters and names. I cut up paper and tape it together, imagine worlds in purple crayon, just like Harold. (That's one of my favorite stories.) My eyes are wide open and my smile is clear. I tender a few friendships that will remain for seven years and counting. The horizon is bright and beautiful. I am readiness.
7. In the stories that I love so much, that annoying little sibling is always of or around my age. The one who doesn't realize the world doesn't revolve around them, supposedly. Except for that's ridiculous, because the world does revolve around me. I am careless and wild as I savor these last few years of innocence, this last stretch of time that comes before knowing. I ask questions just so I can brag about my own answer. But that's okay. I am the storybook crazy child. I am innocence.
8. Watch me speak, watch me dance, watch me smile. I've got it all figured out, haven't I just? I have learned more. I know my times tables up to 12, except I forgot 9 and 11 and 12. But that's okay, too. I have friends, wonderful friends, left and right. I've already bridged the little friendship dramas (those are for little kids, and I'm a big kid, now) and I am absolutely sure of everything I know. Watch me run, watch me win, watch me play. I am certainty.
9. Before I know it, some of my greatest achievements yet hit me, and I am on top of the world. These accomplishments define who I am, and who everybody thinks I am. I am young enough to believe that my authentic self is whoever everyone thinks I am. Even though I have no idea what the word "authentic" means. I go through phases: wanting glasses, wanting a dog, all the childhood staples. I vanquish foes and conquer the world, because that's just what I do and who I am right now. Secondary school lingers in view, but for now, I will still pretend to be a dragon on the firepole until the teacher tells me I'm not being safe with my body. This is my first hint of spite against public school. But that's a story for another time. For now, I vanquish foes and conquer the world. I am pride.
10. We're the only class in the whole wide school to still have snack time, but that's okay. I wear flower-printed dresses with long cardigans because trendiness barely exists yet. I am both over and under, above and below popularity, because its endless issues are so abundant in my past, and my future. Now, I sit at the same seat at the same lunch table every single day, with the same people, and our fingers become the legs of monsters, scampering across the cool plastic of our table. Even though I promise I won't, even though I promise I will just let a game be a game, I'll write a story about it when I get home. What could ever go wrong? I know what I love, and I know who I am. I am strength.
11. A few things could go wrong. The pandemic hits like a wrecking ball just before my birthday, and everything I know crashes and burns. But I was born at 11:11. My birthday comes and goes, rooting me in a newfound strength. On the ashes of climbing virus graphs, I find a new foundation and build something beautiful. I build every Sunday-night sleepovers, even though it's a school night. I build stories and words and I write whenever I manage to grasp a free second in between jamming to my playlist (because I've learned how to make playlists now, proudly) at one-hundred percent volume until my parents go mad. Somehow, I still haven't caught the many-legged virus that is wiping out our lives. I've smiled my way to strength. Somehow, in this foggy cloud of gray, I find light. I am optimism.
12. Having just settled into the luxurious pancake-breakfast-at-eleven-and-pajamas-to-school-at-home routine, the last thing I expect is for life to turn itself inside out all over again. The last thing I expect is to discover support that I never knew was out there. The last thing I expect is to find a home-away-from-home. Of course, until I do. It happens quickly, and it is gone as soon as it comes, as soon as I take a breath. But maybe that breath is all I need to pull me from this pain that I didn't know was there. I thought I knew who I was for all these years, but when I cried into the flames and laughed into the wind for the first time, I met a new version of myself. A version of myself that I loved inside and out, a version that could love inside and out. I am me.
13. I am night and day, light and darkness. I am the brightest flowers in your garden, I am the dancing flames in your woodstove. I am the sprinkles of snow on the mountains. I am the refreshing chill of the river. I am the words that twist and turn and evolve onto paper. I am the secrets that spill from your lips in a haze of metaphor and imagination. I am the love and the hate and the everything and the nothing you bury within you. I am the greatest real smile that stretches across your face, and lights it up like the sun. I am a poem.
14. Tell me I am still too young to ask, where did time go? I hold the memories close to my heart, and I remember that this is not the end. Somebody told me that there is a light at the end of this darkness. That somebody was the version of myself that could love and be loved. And I trust that somebody, that somebody who I know will return someday. I trust, even though I cannot yet see the light. So I will keep wading. I will keep trusting. I will remember that deep down, I am so much more. So much love, so much hate that I bury within me. I am everything and nothing. They tell me I need fixing. They tell me I am broken, but oh, how they are wrong. I am only lost. And I am coming to terms with that. Maybe that's okay. Maybe that notorious Not Knowing is okay. I am lost some days, but isn't everyone? I am ... I don't even know.
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