I am from conversing and relating with the limit of five, from standing in friend’s kitchen hearing sentences not said in mine about a relative down the street, from a rust color table where food and not people sat in abundance.

I am not from welcomes by relatives from the Greek last name, not from begging mother and aunt if cousin can sleepover, not from calls from Grandmother or Grandfather when Mother and Father didn’t understand.

I am from wondering what the person is like sending one communication saying Merry Christmas, from hearing mother say father over the phone and not knowing who, from not seeing infant in parents over parents arms in photos.

I am not from father saying name and knowing the blood, not from knowing the people inhabiting a small island, not from the phrase coast to coast and remembering a warm hug given or an ‘I miss you.’

I am from mother not talking to uncle, I am from idly sitting in the passenger seat in the car while speaker is on and told to say I love you, I am from that single memory of seeing my cousins.

I am not from a broken home, not from being ungrateful for how my parents and siblings have helped me grow into a strong young woman, not from not knowing how lucky I am to have the friends and family who love me.