Sometime squeezed between outgrowing petite jeans and startling at the number one-eighteen, my accessories became a habit more than a choice. I twist and tap this jewelry when I read. Sometimes it even manages to replace biting my nails. Most of what my jewelry holds is the memory of a thing--a reminder of the past, a clue to the present, or a key to my future. Personal joys, whose sparkle in the material distantly reflect the light of my spirit.

     Spheres representing chakras wrap around my wrist. A moon and a starry circle glint from either ear. Tiny tree flowers, set against matching mellow colours, nest in my navel. Metallic tentacles curl delicately on a finger, as if from an octopus in my palm. Hung 'round my neck are diverging pathways and an outline of my home, both gold.

     The day I inherited the blue sky was the first day I felt built for adventure. No more twisting path for me: it was time I tossed the map and went as the crow flies. That night, I fearlessly plunged into a crowd, playing no version of myself but the truth. I stopped acting in a play I didn't write, and became the person to be wrote about.