Who am I? If one really sits and thinks about his identity, it’s really quite a difficult obstacle to overcome. Many articulate forms of speech may describe a person’s humanity, but does it define who they truly are?
Several objects that lie around my room seem to be quite worthless when I see it from a shallow point of view. My novice mind doesn’t perceive the depth and meaning behind each and every item. However, this quickly changed when I was given an assignment by my English teacher. I was assigned to “dig” for some sort of artifact that has significance to it. Immediately I freaked out because I really didn’t have anything that has a special background to it, or at least that’s what I thought. After an entire weekend of rummaging through closets and drawers, I was just fed up. I sat at my desk and complained “I hate homework, it’s so useless”. As I zoned out, I stopped to notice a small red frame, behind my lamp, collecting dust on the corner of my table.
I brushed the delicate piece off, as I stared and squinted at the picture put inside. It was a little girl, dressed up in a white dress; a Barbie doll she perceived to be. She sat on a swing, giggling as the photographer took the elegant picture. The young four year old’s eyes were filled with jubilance and joy. She seemed to be enjoying the happiest moment of her life. The innocence captured in the photograph enlightened the little, red, frame with brilliance.
I slowly stroked my palms along the sides of the roughly painted frame. It was an old ridged frame, so old that it started falling apart. This frame had something that looked like a floral cutout on the left corner. Three of the petal s was yellow, one was white, one was missing, and one was black. It seemed to be painted by an innocent young mind, and sure enough it was none other than me. The memories rushed back to me, quite suddenly. At first I didn’t recognize who made this frame, or even the fact that I was the little girl. Like I...