Where I'm From Is Who I Am

I’m from appetizing arepas and brilliant black beans

that dance in my mouth like a fiery flamenco festivity.

I’m from the heavenly Hallacas

which can unite a distant family.

I’m from piping pecan pie and apple turnovers,

from rocky road ice cream that always finds its way to my stomach

during my frequent visits to my grandparents’ house.

I’m from the suburbs of Spokane,

which mark the first chapter of my life.

I’m from Long Beach and Ilwaco,

from the camping trips at Priest Lake.

I’m from Caracas, Margarita Island, Maracay;

from Venezuela, which occupies the other half of my heart.

I’m from drowning in a glass of water,

from whining about everything

and whining about nothing.

I’m from hard work because

nothing worth having comes easy.

I’m from stopping to smell the roses,

from taking my time to experience life

and the values it has to offer.

I’m from my knowledgeable grandfather

whose name I wear with pride.

I’m from my jubilant grandmother who

reminded me that variety is the spice of life.

I’m from my Tía Silvia and Tío Hector,

from my Abuelo Luvín who loved me

though we never had the chance to meet.

Within these places lies a person—

A person cultivated by the experiences around him,

A person altered by the people he meets along the way.

I am from that person,

And that person is me.

seattle preparatory school's