It's not like I have changed much physically.

16 going on 17.

Still a midget among giants,

and a giant among midgets.

Being just over five feet

seems like a bother.

Tall enough to see yourself in mirrors,

but not tall enough to reach high shelves

in the kitchen or the library.

When I look in the mirror,

I still see

my dark brown beach waves

that appear to be a light chestnut color  

when placed near the light.

I still see the amber eyes

the same ones when I smile at my mom,

or bother my sister

by placing my face too close to hers

when she is wrapped up

on her laptop without a care in the world.

She usually swats at me,

and she tells me to go away

as I were some fly

who placed her shiny wings

like pieces of broken glass

too close to her.

Her reasoning is

how dare I interrupt her training

to becoming a pro.

My little sister, with her goofy alarmingly bright yellow sunglasses

and slick straight gossamer black hair, a gaming pro.

As of late

she would explain what she was doing,

and invite me to join her

on the comfy navy blue bedsheets

in my parents’ bedroom.

As we browse on the Internet,

she berates me for preferring

music videos over gaming tutorials.

My love for music is constant

although my personal tastes sway

like the tides of the cerulean blue ocean.

I will listen to anything

that makes me feel

a wave of adrenaline rush

coursing through my veins.

Anything that makes me want to

twirl around

in my oversized light blue t-shirt

and red plaid pajama bottoms

flexed with charcoal black

and faint hints of gold

as my dark brown waves

sway and bounce side to side with the beat.

The fact that I am more open about

dancing

has been a refreshing change.

Before,

having to memorize dance moves

and keep up with other people

unnerved me.

Dancing always seemed like a hurdle,

but this year it seems less of a burden.

It was okay if I tripped,

or that I forgot that one move.

I became more open minded of making mistakes as I dissected and digested

dance moves from different music videos

from the intricate and group-orientated

dance moves of Bollywood and Korea

to freestyle dancing.

Sometimes it is nice to know

how to make your way across a dance floor

without tripping over your own feet,

or giving deep purple blisters

to anyone within walking distance.

I admire people who can dance in heels

even with the damage

done to them

by their constricting closed toe high heels.

The clattering of heels

on a dance floor

is as calming to me as

the sound of chimes colliding

in the wind.

Dancing shamelessly,

whether you are good or not,

is a gift and a curse.

I haven't gone that far in my growth,

but how does one define growth?

Are there little markers

in solid primary colors

that one earns for every accomplishment

or cumbersome trial that is overcome?

Is there a sense of satisfaction

washing over you like a tidal wave

after a long period of time has passed?

It's an ongoing thing,

something that takes weeks,

months, and years.

You think you are strong

as nails, the feeling of being done

should hit you anytime.

Then you realize,

perhaps under a tree

near but not quite full blossom

as you sweep back and forth on the swings

in the gentle spring air,

that you never stop growing.

Do you get a sticker for every new change

that occurs

such as learning how to navigate the subway

due to having to go to writing workshops

in Manhattan

or developing relationships

with writers

who appreciate

the elegance of a concise but elegant

one-liner?

Is change just another fact of life?

Is it something that takes a while

to digest and accept slowly

like a bite of a chocolate

that your friend insisted was the best,

but you did not understand

until you actually experienced it?

I feel like I am going by life slowly and then all at once.

Frankly I like the way I live my life. It’s mine after all.