<pre><code>Vagabonds on Venus
I used to believe I was ruled by the rings of Saturn, possessed by my own atmosphere. I reigned with the powers of Athena, strong and unforgiving, ready for the oncoming war. I believed that I rose from the ashes like a Phoenix, carrying the beauty and allure of Aphrodite. I was at the center of an isolated Kingdom, living in a garden of secret dreams.
We were the Gods and Goddesses, my family and I. Home wasn’t the empty space between bedroom doors or the high pitched cry of a kettle on the stove. Home was my mother, my father and me. We lived like gypsies for a while, nomads traveling from town to town in search of work. My early years were spent living in the greens and browns of Germany and on warm Hawaiian sand that melted into skin like bones ground into powder. We were wayward spirits, restless in our journeys, shuffling from one apartment to another when rent became too expensive. The red-gold blush of sunbeams resting on tinted car windows whispered into my ear as if saying “don’t get too comfortable, it’s time to move on.”
And moving on was never a problem. In fact, I liked the change. With every move and every coastal highway, I was able to breathe into the sighs of Venus and recreate myself.
</code></pre>
<p>I felt myself flourish like an un-wilted flower at the chance of creating a new character. Who did I want to be this time? Was it the quiet and witty nose-in-a-book, or was it the opinionated feminist with political views far too overbearing for a twelve year old girl? Did I go to school wearing my father’s weathered sweatshirts and a pair of denim jeans or one of my mother’s Thai silk dresses? Which protagonist from which book would I choose to emulate in my new environment? I was creating wild and elaborate stories about my life and moving was my muse.
It didn’t matter that my family and I lived in a one bedroom apartment on the wrong side of town, or that my mother wore shadows of fatigue under her eyes, doused in shades of purple and blue, from working two jobs. No, none of those things mattered, because I lived my life through the eyes of a storyteller and every hardship we faced was material I could use. I found inspiration in our struggles and knew that they did not decide our fate.
I knew that our fate was decided by us. We were still the rulers, ruled by nobody. My mother’s virtue still cast shadows on Hera, and my father’s wisdom still wove into the powers of Apollo. We were still the great ones. We were vikings, ready to claim and fight for what was ours, and we’d let nothing thwart us from thriving. My past has taught me to be an opportunist and recognize the advantages of any circumstance. I know that I must take control of my situation and mold it as a potter would his clay. I will not allow the world to possess me with its pollution, but instead wear it as a cologne of the Gods and Goddesses.</p>