What makes a cake?

Photo by Sally’s Baking Addiction

I’m always told that I’m my own person. There was no one else like me. I thought the same. I am unique, but not too special. I’m myself, but I’m also a collection of the people around me. I have my father’s eyes, my mother’s stubbornness, my grandmother’s knack for making crafts, my grandfather’s nose, my best friend’s vocabulary, my father’s sense of humor, and my sister’s love for dance. 

You’re just like your father, that’s what they say. I’m interlinked with others through the connections of the ones around me. Without my sister, I never would have started dancing. Without dance, I wouldn’t have my best friend. Without my best friend, I would lose all the silly words we’ve created together. Without those words, my vocabulary would remain the same as everyone else. If my father had never met my mother, I would have never been born. Without being born in this world, there is no life for me to explore. 

Though I am my own person, I am made up of the people and connections around me. I am not just myself, but I am a mix of the people I’ve chosen to surround myself with. It’s like baking a cake. Although the outcome is a completely different substance than the rest, it comes out as its own self. It is a cake, but it is a combination of the ingredients used to create it. 

Fireplaces

Unknown Photographer

It was warm. Like a fireplace. Warmth is the feeling that provides comfort and feeling. It makes you feel at home. I mean, how could you be in a house but not feel at home? It’s like sipping hot chocolate in a blazing red mug as you sit watching the most beautiful Hallmark movie. Somehow, I felt anywhere but at home in this house filled with history. 

It was a typical Monday night. At 5:30, my mother would drive me to dance. I would sit on my phone, playing Candy Crush in the front seat, my sister in the back. I would often play Christmas music, but I would really only play one song over and over. I would take a ballet class that lasted an hour and a half, and then I would head into the partnering class where I learned how to dance with the opposite gender. Right at 8:00, I was ready to go home. 

This is where it all changed. I stood in the parking lot, searching for my mom’s usual car. Instead, a white Toyota 4Runner pulled into the parking lot. The window rolled down, and I saw my dad’s face in the driver’s seat. I hopped into the car, thinking my mom was just busy with work. We drove to a house, one that belonged to my grandmother. Upon walking in, the mood instantly shifted to a gloom. I walked into the hallway, my feet not wanting to walk any further. I felt as though I had lost control of my limbs, knowing that something was off. I thought for a moment, standing in the hallway. Hold her hand, my aunt gestured, standing up from her seat. I grabbed the cold, limp hand of my grandmother, and I glanced at the tubes running from the tank that read O2 into her nose. I squeezed her hand. I’m here grandma, I’m right here, I mustered. No response, yet she was still breathing. I thought she would be okay. And then she squeezed my hand. I knew she would be okay. 

The next morning I woke up. I woke up to find out she was gone. I was feeling physical pain, yet I was not being hurt. I was at home. My house. But it felt like an empty hallway. Like a hospital that had just lost a patient. I was not at my home with a fireplace that filled the room with the feeling of warmth. It was Christmas, but I felt no spirit. 

Sparkle

Photo by Mia Yee

The warmth of the lights creates a sweaty glow on her forehead, yet she continues to shine in the light. One step after another, she continues to glide around the stage, gracing everyone backstage with an elegant smile. It’s contagious. Her teeth glisten as the light hits them. Her smile is so bright, no matter what may happen. You can’t help but feel loved whenever you watch her dance. It didn’t matter if she fell on her face or if she did the wrong step. She always looked like she was having fun. She looked as if there was nothing else going on in the world, and she was the only human in the world. There were better dancers than her, but their presence could never outweigh the joy she made everyone feel. It radiated from side to side, spreading to all the people sitting in watching. Whenever you watched her, you could always sense yourself smiling, even if you tried to frown. 

It was always amazing to watch her dance. There was one performance, the performance that you could describe as the best she’s ever danced. But, it happened to be the dance where her face ate the floor. I still remember it, like it was yesterday. Her eyes shone in the light, beaming with happiness. All until you heard the thud that made everyone’s head turn. Her sparkle never faded though. There was no way you could make her frown on stage. She had gotten up and finished as if nothing had happened. You could think that there was nothing going on in her life, but you wouldn’t know that her cousin had just been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. You wouldn’t know that her parents are getting divorced. She hid everything with a smile, and that smile, you could never take away. 

Clouds

Photo by Magda Ehlers

I used to look up to her. The way an apprentice would look up to their mentor. She was everything I wanted to be, yet she was unhappy. I would always see her working hard. She cooked the best meals possible. I’ll never know why she didn’t have a cookbook or how she could just eyeball all the measurements and always make it taste so good. I’ll never find out how she had the patience to sew for hours or the patience she had watching little kids who destroyed the flowers. I used to see her in the backyard, plucking guavas from the trees. She’d always look down and ask, do you want to come pick them up with me? I’ll never forget the way she would smile or the way she could stay strong, even if she had to run a mile. I look up at the sky, wondering where she lay. Because I still look up, hoping to see her. Every single day. 

Pipe Cleaners

Photo by My Growing Creative Life

A pipe cleaner is simply just a metal rod that is coated in a colored fuzz. I don’t quite know what to use it for, but it’s there for kids to have fun. Their hands take the rods from the bag and run to the nearest table. They arrange them in many colors and forms, making them almost unrecognizable from their original form. Its altered state makes
s it seem happier as if the pipe cleaner has something to be appreciated for now. The kids would look back on it, thinking they could change it even more. They’ll make a pig from pink pipe cleaners and give it wings from the white. Pigs can’t fly! That’s what one would say, but the other would reply, well mine can! They’ll give the pig unrealistic features. Features that a real pig would never be able to have. 

Next. they’ll make little dolls of themselves, using different fun colors. They’ll give themself blue hair with yellow eyes, and they’ll keep changing it, wanting it to be perfect. We’ll take ourselves, and we’ll change our appearance. Humans shape these pipe cleaners as we shape those around us. We’ll want unrealistic fantasies that can only be given to fantasy characters. We’re changed by the people we surround ourselves with, and they determine the features we’ll develop.