2004. Whenever I tell people that was the year I was born, they immediately widen their eyes and make a comment that’s some variation of “I’m so old, oh my gosh, you young people need to stop growing.” Since I work at a grocery store where I’m forced encouraged to engage with customers, I hear that about once a day. I still haven’t figured out a good response besides awkwardly laughing and then changing the subject, so if anyone has any ideas, feel free to let me know.

Anyway, I was born in 2004 in Boise, Idaho, alongside my two brothers. You read that right: I am a triplet. According to what I’ve seen in the movies and memes from social media, it’s pretty much like having regular siblings, we all get along, and I am the middle one. My dad is a dentist, my mom is an accounting specialist, and our family has two dogs. One of the dogs, Ruby, is an old grouch who’s not that impressed with me. Ruby prefers to lay on the couch with my mom and judge me from afar. But the other dog, Sadie, is basically my number one fan and I am her’s. Whenever I go home, I gossip with Sadie about college and life in the city. I used to have a dog named Misty, but she passed away when I was 9. Before my mom came to the school to pick me and my brothers up, I’d told one of my classmates that my dog was a little sick, but she was going to be all fine after a quick visit to the vet’s.

My dogs are pretty cute, but to most people, it probably seems a little unnecessary that I’m talking about them this much. I’m talking about my dogs excessively because they got me into writing. Misty, specifically. A couple of years after Misty passed away, I was assigned a short story project. I wrote the story about the day I said goodbye to Misty. We had to leave our short stories on our desk for people to come by and read them. After a bit of time, I noticed that people were reacting to my story differently than the others, even the other sad ones. One girl even started crying. My mom came back from a parent-teacher conference and told me that my teacher had a serious conversation with her about my writing, but not one of concern. Rather, my teacher had told my mom that I had a gift. My mom encouraged me to go for it and I already loved reading, so I got excited and writing became one of my passions.

I’ve never been much of a talker, so writing has become my primary way of expressing myself. In high school, teachers would usually ignore me until I turned in a piece of writing. Afterwards, they would press me to participate more in class and speak up, because I had good ideas, but I wouldn’t. The thing is, I’m not quiet out of choice.

I’m quiet because I have a hard time translating my thoughts into words. Or at least the words that I want to come out. I’ve gotten into some unfortunate situations because I was trying to say one thing, but then the words got all jumbled and the next thing I know, I’m talking myself further into a hole while desperately trying to talk myself out of it. When I write, I can read over what I wrote and make sure it accurately reflects what I want to say. I can also delete or add stuff in that I forgot. So, I prefer writing.

In college, I still get professors pressing me to participate me in class after they read my essays as well. And I still struggle with my words. But, I enjoy the classes a lot more, so I talk just a bit more than I did in high school. I also have a job where I can practice talking to people, so I’ve improved my conversational skills.

Currently, I live in Adams Morgan. In my free time, I boulder, write, read, scroll through Tik Tok, and hang out with my friends. I’m also a huge fan of music, specifically hyperpop and rap. I’m not going to claim I’m an expert, but I can hold a conversation about most of the big artists from those genres.