When I was in Wales, I used to pick white dandelions off the grass and blow on them. Pretty much the highlight of my day every summer that I spend sitting down on the grass during lunch at a Protestant school.
I could still remember the Welsh breeze that feels like home.
Twelve years old, the world seems like it’s in my reach when you’re Welsh and you’re making welsh cakes with lunch ladies during class time. The best thing in the world that I child could be doing. I wonder if I didn’t do that as a child and what I’d be doing and where I’ll end up. For one thing, I wouldn’t have the confidence to write about my life on the Internet. I wouldn’t have a voice to share what I have to say online or to anyone face to face.
The best thing about growing up in the UK is having the freedom to be yourself and not hating yourself. That’s the worse thing about coming to America. You have too much freedom and that stops you from believing in your daydreams. You start to hate yourself because everyone seems to be uncultured about how different everyone actually is.
I wished on dandelions all summer long. It was my 11:11 growing up in Wales. Pick one up off the grass and blow. Make a wish through your daydreams.