Excerpts from long lost journals: Oct. 28th, 2008
Where I’m From
I cant remember if I’ve told many people about this, but I decided to be a mentor through a nyc based program called iMentor.org The program is incorporated with underserved nyc high schools and it is based around once a week emails with our mentees and once a month scheduled hang outs and activities.
My mentee’s last assignment was to write a poem to me about where she is from. She is a recent immigrant from China and she is 20 years old. Here is the poem that she sent to me:
Where I’m from sounds like the birds sing in the broaches
Where I’m from sounds like the crows moo on the green land
Where I’m from sounds like the dogs bark when they see the strangers
Where I’m from sounds like the pigs snort each other
Where I’m from sounds like the chicken cluck to find some food they want
Where I’m from tastes like my mother cooks some delicius food for us
Where I’m from tastes like little red litchis
Where I’m from tastes like little longans
Where I’m from tastes like big pomegranate
Where I’m from tastes delicious special snacks
Where I’m from looks like a lot of farmers are working on the farm with the sunshine
Where I’m from looks like innocent and lovely children play whth silt
Where I’m from looks like some filial piety children help their parents farming
Where I’m from looks like glistening rice field stretch as far as the eye can see
Where I’m from looks like some groups of ducks, some groups of gooses swim on the lake
Where I’m from smells like a colorful lily
Where I’m from smells like a small purple violet
Where I’m from smells like different colors chrysanthemums have a lively party on September
Where I’m from smells like a lot of delicious food from every house every night
Where I’m from smells like the fresh air after air
Where I’m from feels like a big family
Where I’m from feels like a simple village
Where I’m from feels like the honest children
Where I’m from feels like the harvest party
Where I’m from feels like the beautiful girls dancing under the sky
And here is the poem that I wrote back:
Where I’m from sounds like cats meowing for their food in the morning.
Where I’m from sounds like the neighbor’s loud truck engine, reving across the street.
Where I’m from sounds like neighborhood dogs barking when cars drive by.
Where I’m from sounds like birds and squirrels chattering in the trees.
Where I’m from sounds like the wind blowing off of the mountaintops.
Where I’m from tastes like a huge sunday lunch at grandma’s house.
Where I’m from tastes like buttermilk biscuits.
Where I’m from tastes like strawberries in summer, squash in winter, and apple cider in fall.
Where I’m from tastes like friendship bread that I get from my best friend.
Where I’m from tastes like holiday feasts of mashed potatoes and pie.
Where I’m from looks like green, lush mountains.
Where I’m from looks like the effects of mountain top removal coal mining.
Where I’m from looks like wild rivers with rapids twisting through the valleys.
Where I’m from looks like small old houses with yards full of flowers.
Where I’m from looks like hard working, wrinkle-faced people.
Where I’m from smells like smoke from the fire place.
Where I’m from smells like the potpouri in mom’s bedroom.
Where I’m from smells like fresh mountain rain and cut grass.
Where I’m from smells like chemicals being processed at the plant.
Where I’m from smells like nature: wood and leaves and dirt.
Where I’m from feels like napping on a big soft couch in front of the t.v.
Where I’m from feels like five cats brushing against your ankles all at once.
Where I’m from feels like the love of friends and family.
Where I’m from feels like childhood laughter.
Where I’m from feels far away from New York.
