Where I’m From…
Post your “Where I’m From” pieces here. You don;t have to write them as a poem–it could be a prose paragraph if you prefer. What you DO want to do is shape the material into a kind of sensory/memory narrative about yourself–don’t just post a list!
Where I’m from
I am from broken English and translation
I am from long summer days
I am from where itchy grass and a ball create a battlefield
I am from love and peace but also broken hearts chaos
I am from Picanha, sausage, garlic bread
I am from nightly man hunts and hallway hangouts
I am from rice and beans
I am from laughing and crying
Solid start, Nick! I love the first line, which really invites into the specifics of your experience, as does the compelling and intimate “broken hearts chaos,” which hints at pain but leaves it to the reader to interpret. Great food details flesh things out–you could keep going with this!
I always knew when it was time for dinner. The aromas of whatever my mother was putting together would travel up the stairs, eventually making their way to my room. It always reached my room last. By the time it did, my mom would call up the stairs to my sister and I so we’d come downstairs and eat. Everyone would sit at the table; we’d talk about our days. My sister would talk about how middle school was going; I wasn’t really paying attention. My dad would talk about the news, my mom, her work. I would try to but in, talk about how my friends were visiting their grandparents, going to amusement parks, going out. Whenever any one of us brought up grandparents, it would remind my mother that we should probably go down to see her parents. It was always a chore to visit them. It was a multi-hour long drive to visit people I barely knew, and who acted like they’ve known me my whole life. I guess they did, but I still didn’t know them all that well. My mom would try to compensate; telling stories about her childhood, who her parents really were when they were in their prime. She always felt bad that, since she had kids so late, my sister and I were never really able to know who her parents used to be. But the stories she told us only made me want to see them less. She’d talk about how, when she was growing up, her mother only wanted my mom and her sisters to “be happy,” only showing gratitude, never being upset, while my grandmother was allowed to show all the emotions she wanted to. My mom tried to tell good stories too, but they always had the underscore of my mom and aunts trying not to upset their mother. Even as a kid, I knew that was wrong. Soon after, my grandparents visited. I was a young kid, and I greeted my grandfather first and then went to welcome my grandmother. I didn’t think much of it. However, after they left, my mom told me that my grandmother was upset that I greeted my grandfather first, and I should greet my grandmother first next time. Apparently, my grandmother had given my mom an earful about that. From then on, it became my job to make sure my grandmother didn’t get upset with my mother. I had to be cautious around my grandmother, like my mom and aunts had to be. My mother has trauma from her childhood. She knows it, and so does my sister and father. My dad once said that the only reason she hadn’t cut them out of her life was because they were family. My mom tried to prevent the trauma that her mother gave her from being passed onto my sister and me. However, when you spend so much time trying to prevent something it often comes to pass despite their best efforts. People will always say “family first.” But what are you supposed to do when your family, where you come from, treats you like trash?
Really engaging piece, Benjamin–I applaud your honesty in this look at problematic relations and the obligations/guilt we feel even when recognizing the consequences of difficult personalities–the final note of questioning and the pushback it implies is a powerful ending.
I’m from the smell of the ocean and bay 24 hours a day. I’m from daily trips to the beach to watch the surfers surf. From 9-5 lifeguards were my babysitters. Where, you knew summer hit, because it took you 20 minutes longer to get to town. We have the best pizza and bagels. Where there are people dressed in Ralph Lauren head to toe and people also dressed in Walmart head to toe. Where we have Prada, Gucci and Coach. We also have diners, thrift stores, and fishing shops. The type of place where you could see the Clintons, Jlo, or any of your favorite celebrities on the street just casually eating ice cream. There are kids that work everyday from dawn until dusk just to be able to afford practical things. They’re are also kids who will probably never have to work a day in their life. This is how life is from where I’m from, 5 months out of the whole year.
What an intriguing look at the complexities of class and privilege that can coexist in a single place–especially in a vacation destination for those with means. The details are well-chosen and what might initially seem like a celebration of celebrity and the materialistic “good life” lands with a pointed social critique.
Where I’m From
Jack Peterson
I’m from the trees beside of a house on a quiet street
I’m from the sand on a hot summer day
I’m from Kathryn and Chris and the upbringing of Maggie, Aidan, and Bridget
I’m from my grandmother’s breast cancer and my grandfather’s stroke
I’m from distance running being passed down by family members and relatives
I’m from Jesus sacrificing his life to forgive my sins
I’m from treating others the way I want to be treated
I’m from not quitting when I’ve lost hope or feel down about myself
I’m from being a good person
You demonstrate a solid understanding of this assignment, Jack–the sequencing that alternates your concrete, everyday details with profound life challenges and notes of determination, faith, and resilience makes for a poignant mini-memoir. You could certainly add more– this is a strong foundation for a longer piece.
I’m from touching apartments, and crowded rooms. I’m from don’t talk to strangers around the corner, I’m from walking around sidewalk cracks like it was a game. I’m from hooping on a double rim or using a flat ball to play football. I’m from scraped knees and aching shins from bikes or scooter. I’m from hand-me-downs and worn items. I’m from working hard or it won’t be given. I’m from walking around the corner to grab a 99 cent arizona. I’m from working at a young age to help tired parents. I’m from humble talking’s to respecting all. I’m from the boats that would fish, surrounding the battleship. I’m from the city that wasn’t the best, but made me who I am.
Really strong sense of place, Malakai–your sequencing and imagery demonstrate an observant eye on the key details that express social and cultural atmosphere, especially the complex mix of small pleasures and larger struggles that define important aspects of a character focused on making opportunity where there might seem to be scarcity and taking pride in resilience. Nicely done!
Where I am from, I knew a little girl who wore pink cowgirl boots until they faded into gray. She was often found in what seemed to be piles of blood, but in reality, it was just a few scratch marks from her blue razor scooter, which always seemed to wrong her. Heavy tears seemed to fall often, but they never rolled fully down her face because the oldest was always there to dry them; she came from love. She came from a place where people only dressed up to watch horses run around the track for entertainment, which she still doesn’t get. She came from the smell of burgers grilling while Keith Urban blared through the speaker, covering the screams and jumping from the pool, but not her brother’s laughter, which she can still hear today. She came from the tight pink Barbie life vest that she would always beg to take off on the boat, but the trip to the cove and the yellow Spongebob popsicle would always make up for it. She came from the best iced sweet tea that she didn’t need, but while at grandma’s was a must. To this day, I compare every tea I have to hers, and nothing gets close to the one I drank at ten. I feel lucky that the little girl had all of those experiences and memories because it made me who I am, and that’s where I am from.
I like your choice to vary the “where I’m from” form, Lilah, and it’s an interesting decision to access your own memories in the third person, which gives this an almost fairy-tale like feel at the start. Nicely observed details throughout (food, music, the life vest, sweet tea, etc.)–you have a good feel for the importance of creating a rich sensory atmosphere!
I am the singular bud from the plants
the only creation made from my makers
I am the center of the household, the reason for many of the good times,
Along with the troublemaker, which came many life lessons, but also many times of laughter
I am the trips to the park to play a game of catch, the soft breeze gushing by, giving my skip goosebumps
the smell of freshly cut grass, and fields,
the smell of my backyard, a place where many memories were created
I am the rolling down hills in the summer, and sledding in the winter
the curbside crack on the top of my helmet, and the person who got run over by a sled
I am the long line of railroad tracks behind my shelter
long walks across town listening for the loud honking noise
short bike rides across town, with friends that I could count on 1 hand
I am not a full believer of the man in the clouds above, I am a believer of family tradition
A believer of the big man in a red suit, and of the big white bunny
I am the tradition of Sundays,
walking downstairs, smelling the just made pancakes,
football Sundays with wings, nachos, and chili
I am arguments I could hear down the hall, to now talking through text and being across town
the 8 minute drive to visit the other home, following a schedule
to now being able to make my own choices
I am the light that keeps my family together, and away from the darkness
Ty–It’s a clever move to have started your piece with the plant imagery on which George Ella Lyons ends. You then make it all your own with the tactic of beginning each line with “I am” (this technique is called anaphora, as you may know), which allows you to take a deep dive into your personal history. Strong sensory imagery throughout –and a striking final line!
Where I’m from the summers become a popular place. Where I’m from the only place you go to in the summer is to ride big waves or dig your feet in the burning sand. Where I’m from the wealthiest people come down just for stay in their homes for only a month. Where I’m from the most important thing is family. Where I’m from walking and biking will lead you to your destination. Where I’m from waving to strangers is normal and welcoming. Where I’m from last names are how you are known. Where I’m from grandparents are only a couple blocks away. Where I’m from siblings choose to live close with one another. Where I’m from the word benny is a town known thing. Where I’m from the smell of ocean water last until 4 towns over. Where I’m from small shops are a teenager’s source of income.
With its images of small-town community, neighborly values, and childhood pleasures, this piece almost feels like a old home movie, Ellie. I mean that in a good way: it has a nostalgic warmth and clear sense of place. At the same time, there is an intriguing sub-theme of the way the wealthy and well-known change this little bubble during their leisure visits–I could hear more about this!
Where I’m from, children always play in their yards or in the cul-de-sac. Running to the bus stop to get the best seat. Being excused from having family dinner to play outside before the sun sets. Having smores, all snuggled up at the fire pit. The smell of smoke smothering our clothes. Strolling downtown, preparing ourselves to spend all of our chore money. Feeling the ocean breeze when fishing with my dad. The excitement for the end of the summer neighborhood block parties. Pasta salad, hamburgers, hot dogs, and corn waiting to be eaten at cookouts. Weekend getaways at our lake house, trying not to fall off the tube while hanging on for dear life. Waking up early for a full day of skiing, then return to ride on the snowmobile and ice skating on the frozen lake. Having so much adrenaline trying to race my brother down the mountain, intended that I’d lose every time. Leaves turning orange, smelling the crisp air and knowing football season has arrived. Sundays were for the Patriots and arguing with the TV. The inside of my childhood is something that I’m forever grateful for.
There is a loving nostalgia to this piece, Alex. You evoke all the New England seasonal sensations and infuse your narrative with heartfelt joy. I especially like the unusual phrasing “the inside of my childhood”!
Where I am from
I am from the browns and greens of the front yard
Where the pigskin was tossed until dawn
Where hitting was your alibi
And the one limbed tree was the security blanket
I am from a place where the bay shimmers like a mirror’s passion
Where the sun paints its scenery like a golden brush
Where the rough pebbles of grain rub against your feet in unison
And the wind whistles and greets you as it goes by
I am from a small unified village from the cape
Where being 1 of 5 is a lot
Where conflicts with one another are non existent
And people get a long like butter and toast
Strong first writing, John. I like the sustained sensory atmosphere, the sense of social cohesion, and the vivid details. My favorite line here is “shimmers like a mirror’s passion”–an unexpected and striking image. You’re off to a great start!
I am from a place where the beach was the first of the public in the country.
A banner with colors of yellow, red, and blue are on the wall in the kitchen.
My family speaks the language of those colors. The neighborhood is loud with soothing music.
In the morning, my mother makes me the best coffee that the world claims it to be.
The warmth of this drink makes the body feel loose and calm like the waves that walk their way to the dry sand close to home.
I am from a wide place but close together where I can see my long backyard with a pond and ducks. I am from a hot island where my ancestors lived and passed their traditions. I am from rice and peas with flying fish and macaroni pie on the side. With food on my plate, I would watch cooking shows with my grandmother.
Kymani, this is off to a solid start–I love the food details and the sense of the importance of family, ancestors, and tradition– I’d love to hear more about the kinds of traditions that have been passed down and continue to be meaningful to you!
I am from Friday pizza movie nights,
From dressing as Tinkerbell on Halloween.
I am from bonfires and Hoodsie cups,
From snow decorating the evergreen outback.
I am from a school made of two towns,
From practice in the fall and spring.
I am from spending the night at my grandmas,
And being best friends with my sister.
Good start, Alexandra–you craft a very pleasant, cozy atmosphere in this piece. My favorite line: “…snow decorating the evergreen outback”–this line not only has an effective clarity of image, it has a great rhythm as well (especially the lyric sound of “evergreen outback”). You could certainly add more!
I am from my father’s town
I am from balmy summers and crisp winters
I am from leaves going through the color spectrum, falling, and restarting again
I am from mosquito bites, sandy feet, scraped up elbows, and dirty cars
I am from bouncing between one practice to the next
I am from dinners in front of the TV
I am from things Ajoba taught me; from our culture to the culture, he adapted to
I am from long road trips to see family during the holidays
I am from the Windy City that only got more accessible as time went on
I am from midnight bike rides hoping my parents will be asleep
I am from constant news stories that shined light on my community, but also covered it on darkness
Strong imagery throughout, Cade–you really set the theme of being shaped by those who came before you right in the first line. I think my favorite part is “I am from things Ajoba taught me; from our culture to the culture he adapted to.” The final line is compelling–I’d like to hear more!
Im from a big city in a small country with a huge problems, is the first answer that comes up in my mind when I get the question “where are you from?”
im from a shelter who save me, and keep me safe, one who was full of love. The shelter made me see everything different, and made me go in a different way, even tho it wasn’t safe, so now im from a new big city, but this time its in a huge country with small problems.
Im from a shelter that it isn’t just a physical object but one who was full in dark chocolate but filled with rainbow sprinkles, one who always proffered to be behind the scenes better then being the star of the show, the one who made me realize that being the black ship in a world full of all white and similar ones, is better.
Im from a lot of different places, but the shelter will always be my favorite.