Tuesday, January 20, 2015

I am...




 I am…
 
A daughter, to parents oceans apart from each other, a father who seems distant because of the 14 hour time difference that separates us, and a mother who keeps my feet on the ground.

A granddaughter, to a grandmother who will never let me forget where I came from, and three other grandparents whom I have never met because their time on Earth expired before mine began.

A sister, who tries to be a good role model but may falter at times, to a third grader who is extremely extroverted and can be overwhelming.

A student, caught between wanting enough sleep and wanting good grades but somehow manages to do both even if it seems impossible.

A musician, who has never been good with words but is capable of being able to speak through notes on a page.

A shattered violin, the product of a mishap that occurred a few years ago, laid to rest in the cold attic, the first instrument I fell in love with almost ten years ago, which will never be in one piece again but has the memories of my first concert engraved into its many fragments.

Bitter, black coffee.

Waking up late on weekdays and too early on the weekends, the frustrating cycle of never knowing grey, everything has always been either black or white.

Anklets that I’ve worn for three years but have forgotten why I’ve been wearing them, like some kind of symbolism that I can’t figure out.

Over-sized sweaters and leggings in the middle of July.

My mother’s hands and my father’s mind, my father’s thoughts but my mother’s actions, which seems like a bad combination most of the time.

A collection of all the places I’ve been and all the places that I would like to experience one day.
An unmade bed and the essence of incense from the night before.

A guitar, with strings that could always use a little more tuning and the potential to play music that can’t be expressed in words.

Green tea, procrastination, and Netflix on a rainy day because sometimes there are days when I need to remember that I can breathe.

Growing up, a little bit terrified and not completely naive, but excited to see what else this world has to offer and what I can do to make it a bit more bearable.

2 comments:

  1. You say you are better with notes on an instrument than you are with words, but I disagree! You are a beautiful writer, Laura. I love how you describe the differences between your parents, the distance there, the ways you are like them and not like them for better or for worse. The line about your grandparents' time on this earth being over before yours began is a heartbreaking but lovely one. I also like what you said about taking time to remember you can breathe. This is wonderful, Laura. Thanks.

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  2. You have the most amazing word choice that really gives me the feeling that i am transported into your world for a few minutes :) I understand the memories that your violin hold for you, because I feel the same about my memorabilia from middle school. Back then I was always the head chair in the Jazz band and regular band with my saxophone. I also have a very mixed up combination of my mother's and father's traits like you say that you have

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