I am from the red scarf,
From glittering hairpins and dresses.
I am from the warmth of my mother’s arm.
The lullaby she used to sing me at night.
I am from notes of music,
Mozart and Chopin,
From the masterpieces they created in history.

I’m from the rattle of rice wine bottles,
The tastes of sweet porridge and bitter black tea.
I’m from the woods in the backyard,
From bristle grass and scholar trees,
Even the rhythm when their bodies swing in the wind.

I am from sunshine in hot summer,
The moist fog on cold mornings.
From farmland to traffic jams.
Snowy mountains to desert’s oasis.
From such a wild and unique landscape
Under such strict policies.
We don’t get to decide what we want to be,
And we don’t get to know what we are supposed to know,
No one can predict the future, or where these things might lead,
Where we might go.

I’m from complexity and peace,
From confusion and hope.
From all these situations,
I become, me.