<p>It’s 3:00am and I’m on zoomita.com, agonizing over the 12th draft of the “world I come from essay.” How could I possibly describe the world I come from? As I mull this over my younger brother barges into the room wearing an Iron Man costume and carrying an entire wheel of cheese and a fruitcake that my mother has been saving for the holidays. His half-open eyes tell me he is on one of his sleep-walking rampages again. I hear footsteps – dad’s – and now he’s in my room too, a dirty gardener’s glove still on his hand from tonight’s midnight weeding session. He starts to coax my brother back to bed but is having trouble getting him to budge. I’m sitting there taking in the scene, as well as the peeling paint and 70’s era posters on the wall that seem to make the whole spectacle even more cinematic. </p>
<p>On any given day, at any given moment, chaos is being unleashed within our house. My father, mother, brother, and I are so different in ever measurable way that it’s hard to believe we’re related, much less part of a traditional nuclear family. To get a sense of our home, think of the ancient elements colliding and producing some sort of dark mystical energy that completely undoes everything in its path. That’s our house. I love it.</p>
<p>I’m not sure about the world I come from, but I live in a eclectic place where surprises – little unknowns – spring out at you all the time, and there is never a moment when you aren’t glad you’re there. Thinking about all this as I watch my father pry the wheel of cheese out of my brother’s hands, I turn back to zoomita and start to write my essay. I think I’m going to make the November 30th deadline after all.</p>