Tiffany Hughes. It is the name given to me upon my birth on the twenty-seventh day of the tenth month in the year nineteen ninety-two. Over the next seventeen years, I have gone by many names, ranging from the more vulgar and degrading to the gentle and considerate endearments. "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet." I do not care what you choose to call me. It means nothing to me. Just make sure that it is true.

I am a junior at LaRue County High School, in the small town of Hodgenville, Kentucky. I am not a native of this area, having moved to Kentucky from Texas two years ago. I was originally born in Texas, in a small town in the Eastern side of the state. Having moved at least a dozen or more times in the years before now, I am hoping that my father has chosen to settle for a while before picking up our family and migrating elsewhere. He is much of a gypsy, and I am quite sure he will never rest until his eyes have graced every inch of this planet.

I struggle to remember most of my life before my twelfth year of life. To be quite honest, those memories have slipped my mind like sand between my fingers. My latest recollection of life in Texas is the year my family and I moved from East Texas in two thousand four. We left all of our family behind in hopes of forming a better life. In the years following, we moved our move from Eastern Texas, we have changed residencies five times in five years. My mother and father could feel the strain- that I could see in their behavior and everyday activities.

The unrest in my home life lead me to living in the more vicarious sense. I like to watch other people enjoy their lives. I try to help others in every way that I can, but I care not to help myself. It's not that I am hypocritical, but that I have no interest in my own life. Why deal with the frustration of my own life, as well as those of my companions? My interests lie in the success of everyone else. If I can watch those I care about reach the zenith of their lives, I feel that I have made the best of my own...

I am a sad person. I think sad thoughts, I listen to sad music, I dwell on sad memories... It's a part of who I am. I suppose it's previous experiences, combined with my fascination with watching mankind tear itself apart that has made me this way. Either way, the fact remains, and I have found that it cannot be changed. I am just that melodramatic. That doesn't mean I am a downer toward those around me. I can find the beauty in everyone else's lives, but I only see faint light at the end of the tunnel for me, and as the days progress, that light fades. I strive to find the more delicate hope in life.

This is why I write. I write to escape and to express. Isn't that why we are all here? Isn't that the whole purpose of putting forth our imaginations for the entire world to see? Of course it is. Don't even try to deny it...