Reading and Writing Identity All my life I have had a strong love for reading and writing, from a young age; I have been able to read well, completing The Tale of Despereaux in two days when I was in the first grade. Ever since I was little, my dad would read to me before bed, sometimes he would come up with the stories on his own. Whenever he would read to me, I would always find myself immersed in the words shared, taking the opportunity to let my imagination run wild. During the short span of my academic years, I have read novels, poetry, short stories, screenplays, comic books, as well as graphic novels. However, I have always had a love for poetry, as well as horror. I love the description in poetry, and ever since fifth grade I have spent a decent amount of my personal time just writing poetry. Though there are other types of writing I also enjoy, I keep a journal about my daily life; as well as a blog on my website I built online. I write to my friends back in Washington, simply because it feels more personal and I enjoy practicing my handwriting. These are just a few types of writing I enjoy, and although I do appreciate creative writing; unlike some of my peers I enjoy writing assignments as well as assigned essays. (WIP) / (TBC)

Memories of Childhood I was born in California, around fields of strawberries, surrounded by rushing highways leading from small town to small town. I remember each birthday party, car-ride, or walk; we were always protected with blankets of sunshine, or sheltered under meadows of soft breezy clouds. We would walk along the beach, the sand, small warm dunes crumbling beneath my feet, intaking shallow breaths of the freshly crisp salt air. I remember each unique adventure that I would partake in. Whether I was searching for treasure hidden beneath the Golden State's grainy warm hue, or through the buoyant waves. My Grandfather was always by my side. Until we moved to Oregon, where the wind and rain seemed to almost wail in agony. I often spent my time resting my head against the towering windows sill, longing to play among the towering trees, admiring the crystalline tears of the sky above. As well as immersing myself in the immodest chatter of taps against the house walls, and the musky, fresh petrichor. It was almost as if the rain was knocking, whispering to let it in. We had lived in Oregon for almost a decade, before we moved again. Only a half an hour away, seemed like an eternity. Furthermore, we moved to Washington. A state that's in a state of constant gloom. I had been spoiled by California's soaring forests, rugged mountains, as well as its sun-smitten valleys. I aspire to draw in another breath of California's sweet smell of spring, hopefully sometime soon. Although, for now I'll just keep it in my memories.