I don’t remember being born. I don’t remember putting my mother through twenty-one hours of labor. I don’t remember coming into this world. I don’t remember looking like Mike Tyson, even though I was a white, female baby.

I don’t remember being two. I don’t remember being a perfect child, never crying in public and always sleeping through the nights. I don’t remember having bleached blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. I don’t remember always wanting to read A Dragon in a Wagon.

I don’t remember being three and a half. I don’t remember exiting the perfect child stage. I don’t remember throwing fits, fussing and loosing the ability to sit still, as if trying to make up for the time I wasted as a two year old.

Memories shift through my brain like all my home videos being played on the fastest setting of fast-forward today’s technology could possibly offer. Things I never thought I’d remember some how find their way inside my head. I’m slowly evolving into a new person, with only memories as a reminder for what I used to be. But at the same time, it’s my past that’s shaped me; that’s taught me and made me who I am.

I remember being five. I remember being a compulsive liar. I remember telling my entire class I was allergic to the sun, and was immediately blinded the moment I stepped out into its warm rays. I remember missing nearly half of the school year thanks to the diseases I made up. I remember telling my best friend not to ride the train at Howarth Park. That alligator in the lake? It’s real. And it ate my friend. He was on the train.

I remember being ten. I remember not being able to go on the first over-night field trip with my fourth grade class. I remember lying in the hospital bed, eating apple sauce and watching Blue’s Clues because it was the middle of the day and it was that or the soaps. I remember wondering if my appendix was only there to blow up. I remember praying that my fever would go down and I could go home. I remember being in that hospital for three long weeks.

I remember being twelve. I remember hating everything that wasn’t Santa Rosa, California. I remember hating my dad for accepting a job offer. I remember hating my mom for wanting to be closer to family. I remember hating the public school for being one of the best in the nation. I remember hating the economy for making living in California expensive. I remember hating the mid-west for pulling us out there.

Memories shift through my brain like all my home videos being played on the fastest setting of fast-forward today’s technology could possibly offer. Things I never thought I’d remember some how find their way inside my head. I’m slowly evolving into a new person, with only memories as a reminder for what I used to be. But at the same time, it’s my past that’s shaped me; that’s taught me and made me who I am.

I am sixteen. I am driving and loving my freedom. I am obsessed with having the perfect college application, even though that’s still a year away. I am always colder than everyone else. I am prone to illness and freak injuries. I am trying to find a job because I never seem to have any money. I am hoping junior year isn’t as difficult as everyone claims. I am waiting for the rest of my life to hurry up and get here. I am absolutely 100% unsure of everything, except for my memories. Of those, I am absolutely sure.