I am from piano keys, math workbooks, sleepy subway rides. I am from grassy lawns, rollerblading in suburbia, and turnpikes all throughout the armpit of America. I am from a neighborhood filled with children I tutored, feeling the pressure to live up to my family name, never having cousins, aunts, or uncles to eat a holiday feast with. I am from what looks like a flawless family on the outside, but to me, one lacking in intimacy, emotion, and real connection. Having real conversations is a new concept, one I only experienced once I left home. "Only speak Korean in the house," perhaps the language contributed. Some things I didn't understand then, but am forever grateful for now. I am from pan fried mackerel and tofu my father loves, potatoes and rice dismissed. I am from my boxes of time capsules filled with memories from Korea and New Jersey, stored away in a corner of my home.