I often see my adolescence as a well-worn, tattered tapestry or a dirt-stained quilt. The fabric is woven with trial and error lessons, backbreaking work, and long, tiresome hours. After some time and exposure to the rays of the sun, the colors of said quilt have become bleached. Seams split and worn out frays add to its layered texture. I often lament how this tapestry of my adolescence used to be in its humble beginnings. Perhaps in speaking of innocence, I’m speaking of a
