The parts of us that are not ours,

yet we so diligently care for

as if they were made for us.

Tan lines and familiar smiles

Embedded in the lives of

Our people, our hearts, our loves.

Engrained in the shadows

Beneath the door frame

Where her pulse sounds like mine

And his laugh echoes like mine.

Or maybe mine mimic theirs.

I mimic them.

I mimic their walk and their talk,

Their softness and their fierceness,

Unwavering, gentle, a contradiction.

I am brought to tears by the idea

That parts of me are made of you

And even more so when I remember that

Parts of you are made of me.

So, all I ask is,

That you see me in the parts of you

Those are hidden between the layers of

Emotions, fluff, and glitter.

And especially in the layers

harsh, sour, and bitter.

A museum of mosaic,

A mosaic of you and me.

—

A tribute to the people holding candles to us, their lives embedded in ours without even realizing it.

Life itself is the most peculiar reality we must adapt to. When we find ourselves in situations that bring out in us the traits of others, we are either reduced to specks of dust intertwining with one another or amplified into a powerful symbol of love in the universe.

Consider how our personalities are shaped by other people who pass through our lives. These people are like train tickets; they are useful for the ride until you finally reach your destination. They got you where you wanted to go, and that will stick with you for the rest of your life, but their work is over. We are the product of other people’s mannerisms and habits, much like how we are a train ticket to other people’s destinations.

I really like juice, perhaps more so than most people, and I often prefer to drink apple juice over orange juice because it’s what my sister and I drink when we’re together. She even smells like apples, and apple juice makes me think of her.

I spray perfume in the air and then run to it because my best friend once said it makes you smell good in all the right places. Funnily enough, when I am hungry, I always order sushi from that one restaurant because it is the place where she made me try sushi for the first time; the same place where I positively fell in love with sushi. I laugh at puns and my thoughts lead me to her whenever pancakes are being made because I spent the better part of my teenage years doing just that, for her.

I sing songs at the top of my lungs because someone once told me it makes me look so free, and I have been wearing the same shade of lipstick ever since I can remember because according to my friend’s sister it is really beautiful­.

I cut my vegetables a certain way and freestyle when seasoning my sauces because my father said that you can never go wrong with trusting your “cooking gut” and that “close enough” is a good enough measurement. I know my eyes crinkle the same as his when I smile, and I have the same beauty marks he does, but it makes me laugh when people tell me I look just like him because they do not realize how much of me really is of him.

People think our mannerisms come from within, but how would that explain the fact that I think of my childhood best friend every time I smell cucumber? She used to wear a cucumber-scented perfume when we were 12. I still drink a specific brand of chocolate milk because it is her favorite. I still hold my sandwich and drink in one hand as she does, and I have been told that I’m just as bossy as she is.

I smile at strangers and nod when listening to someone talk because my mother can’t help but do that. My mother loves cooking, more than most things. And she loves reading, more than most things. And as I watched her cook, I came to do my rice like she does and add a teaspoon of vinegar when baking cakes, because she once said it makes the cake fluffier. I came to arrange my books by my favorite to the ones I have not even read, and I still think books are the best investment you can make. I like onions and mozzarella with my omelette because it is the way she does her eggs, and my lips turn into a pout when I am sad, just like hers do.

I frown when people double-dip their fries because my brother hates it, even though it does not bother me, and I cannot help but think of him whenever someone mentions pasta.

I am a product of everyone around me; their mannerisms inhabit me, and mine inhabit them. And perhaps that is what makes us, us.

We are a mosaic of the people around us, floating in the air, with so much to give and so much to take. Honor this mosaic till you shine with the memories of your people now and ever after.