I am from age-old pickle jars, and dusty ancestral bookshelves  I am
from dried rose petals sneaking out of a love letter,  
and late-night ice cream that leaves you with a sore throat  

I am from the 19 houses in 15 districts, none of which could become  "my home, sweet home"  

I am from the fruity summer breeze, the plea of petrichor, the bright autumn  sky, the crimson of spring  
I am from marigold, dahlia, tuberose, frangipani  
I am from the mountain rows afar as though giant waves rising from earth  

I am from honor, from pride, from tiresome might  
I am from vacillating faith–disbelief, hope–despair  
I am from eye floaters and déjà-rêvés, anxious stims and idiosyncrasies  

I am from the smell of spice, rice morsels and fish gravy,  
and the stubborn stain of turmeric  

I am from the clumsy photo frames never hung on the wall  

I am from a preterm birth with a termless soul  
I am from the unfaltering loyalty of a love that never returned  I am

from a space yet to be discovered  

Maliha Huq is an engineer, teacher, student and writer. She is pursuing her dream of receiving an MA in Creative Writing from ULAB; interested in Asian fiction, memoirs, and translated literary works; and is patiently awaiting the moment of owning enough words and skills to write something worth reading.