I am from a Korean stone bowl,

a mix of sizzling rice and spicy chili paste

sweetly burning your tongue.

I am from a Mongolian warrior 

with coarse black hair and dark brown eyes.

I am from a peninsula in the western Pacific Ocean.

From first generation immigrants

fleeing from a war-torn country,

chasing the American dream.

I am from frigid Atlantic Ocean waves 

stabbing my body with icy fingers

as I paddle to catch the wave.

I am from freshly pressed church clothes.

From beige khakis, blue blazers, and Vineyard Vines ties.

From plucking ripe persimmons with my grandma.
         (Fiery orange, bursting with sweet syrup).

I am from sitting on my grandma’s warm lap

and reading Bible stories,

the Book of Jonah

chiseled into my memory.

I am from dirt and camo on a biting cold morning, 

shooting quail as they fly from the bush.

I am from red Georgia clay.

From being covered head to toe in dirt

after sliding into home plate

on a sweltering Saturday morning.

I am from a thick ceramic diner plate,

Piled high with crispy chicken and fluffy waffles

on a crisp Sunday morning.

I am from the hardwood floors of the School’s gym,

silently sitting cross legged.

I am from sitting upright on the stiff pews of my high school’s chapel, leg bouncing, bobbing up and down.

I am from a sea of green and white

storming the football field 

(adrenaline coursing through my veins).

I am from a sea of sounds,

melodies pouring from our trumpets and filling the skies.

I am from a Korean stone bowl,

From waiting to see what will be added to the mix.