Where the piano keys echo, with every affectionate touch, of decades before when it ran through the veins. Of ancestors of 50 and 100 years passed, the soul of its song still remains. That is where I am from. Where the cracks of the tennis courts symbolize each year, where the park was just a footstep away. And where the slide and the see saw used to stand, and how that once verdant grass has turned grey. That is where I am from. Where the smells of the garlic and the cloves waft on by, and the small balls of dough savor the taste. Where the dinner leads into the big desert, and the triple layered chocolate cake. That is where I am from. Where the delicate wool meets the tender hole, of the blanket knitted by soft hands. Of a grandmother who was quite young at the time, and her youth in the blanket still stands. That is where I am from. Where the ice rink turns into a soccer field, and the summer sun melts the snow. Where the windows have broken from firm soccer shots, and the magnolia tree wilts from the blow. That is where I am from. Where the words of love never seem to fit, with the lifestyle that I wish to live. And “I do this because I love you” makes me cry in hate, but I know that they will always forgive. This is where I am from.