A ribbon runs through me, in front of me, and inside. The loops, their patterns—they envelop me. Become me. When I think of what I am, I think of a product of two: habits, identities, expectations. Passed down, tangled together, and wrapped around me until I no longer know where they end and I begin.

Two roses ground me: one Korean, one British. These flowers, emblems of my heritage and simplified to symbols of nations, reflect my awe at the vast histories and cultures they represent. But their very simplicity—flattened into universal symbols—reminds me of my distance from both. Together, they tangle and tether me to identities I claim yet question. My voice, caught within this tangle, feels silent—not taken, but lost—obscured under the weight of uncertainty.

The ribbon weaves through me, in and out, shaping me in ways I don’t always see. It becomes a thread of inherited habits, lingering like the smoke curling from a lit cigarette—ephemeral yet pervasive. I would be nothing without what made me, as every trace of the past carries an infinite influence on the evolution of the self.