I am warm, the cloud of warm air wraps me up and I can't move. The smell of spaghetti and chicken make my head dizzy and when I close my eyes I can actually visualize the fresh chicken itself, stuffed with all kinds of spices. I hear Brazilian music, for lately that's all my mom listens to. I enjoy listening to upbeat people sing something on the language I do not understand. I feel like the time has stopped for me to be able to do everything I was set out to do. I turn my head to see flowers, the ones that my mom so lovingly cares for. She cares for me too. I am a flower. My roots go deep inside and you can't just take me out of wherever I am. I am not the kind of flower that stands in the vase for a week and then gets thrown out. I grow. With every minute I become stronger and learn more. Everything around me is either white or black. The perfect world where gray areas disappear and everything is good or bad. White or black. Life is easy for a flower like that. Why aren't I a flower?

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