Where I'm From Poem by oio ZIGA

In life, I've come to realize it's not really about where I'm from — not the town, not the city, not even the culture.
It's about what I'm from.
And what I'm from… is a different kind of story. A different kind of beginning.
It's not a place on the map — it's a place in the soul.
A place made of silence, of struggle, of absence. Of trying to grow from dry ground.
It's the kind of beginning where love was conditional, kindness was rare, and survival was a daily ritual.

I didn't come from comfort.
I didn't come from abundance.
I didn't come from open arms or soft landings.
I came from watching the world from behind invisible bars —
bars made of shame, of pain, of things unspoken and things done in the dark.

I came from a place where no one gave you a head start.
Where no one told you, 'You can be anything.'
Where the dreams had already died before you even knew what dreaming was.

So no, I don't carry what most people carry.
Not the memories that make you smile.
Not the roots that make you proud.
Not the inheritance of love or legacy.
I wasn't handed down stories of hope — I had to carve my own.
I had to find light with no torch.
I had to build wings with no feathers.

That's what I'm from.

And every single day, I'm doing everything I can —
everything I must —
to free myself from that what.
To unlearn the lies.
To let go of the pain that tried to make a home in me.
To break the cycles that never served me.
To become someone who isn't bound by the past that tried to own me.

Because the truth is, I didn't have what others had.
Not the love.
Not the tools.
Not the safe space to grow into myself.
And yet, people still expect from me.
They expect me to be whole.
To be generous.
To be available.
To be more.

But how can they expect something that was never planted?

Still… I choose to rise.

Because what I do have is something no one could take:
what's inside me.
A fire that refuses to die.
A heart that knows the ache of hunger — for more, for better — and still keeps beating.
A mind that imagines a different future.
A spirit that refuses to be buried in a past that never wanted me.

So I live forward.
I stretch toward tomorrow like it's a lifeline — because it is.
I build toward the future because there is no past worth staying in.
Only lessons to carry, not chains.

I'm not from privilege — I'm from persistence.
Not from blessings — but from breaking and rebuilding.
Not from safety — but from survival.
Not from love — but from the longing for it.

And maybe that's enough.
Maybe that's more than enough.
Because even if the beginning was broken, I still get to write the rest of the story.