cover
In a sunlit attic, RCSTA kneels beside an open dusty box, short black hair brushed back, smiling eagerly. Photos, worn journals, and folded maps sprawl on the wooden floor as she writes labels with a black pen.
RCSTA, a curious seventeen-year-old with short black hair, opened a dusty box. 'Let’s start our family tree,' she whispered. She unfolded photos, journals, and maps. Carefully, she labeled names. Adventure felt possible.
At a cluttered bedroom desk under warm lamplight, RCSTA reads a faded letter aloud, eyes wide with wonder. One hand traces red routes on a paper map while the other presses a tiny ship sticker beside the coastline.
She read a faded letter aloud: 'Dear family, we journeyed with hope.' RCSTA traced places on the map. She pasted a tiny ship sticker. Her heart raced. 'They were brave,' she said.
Outdoors beneath a sprawling old oak at late-afternoon glow, RCSTA sits cross-legged on the grass, focused. She draws a family-tree diagram on a large sketchpad balanced on her knees as wind lifts leaves around her.
Outside, RCSTA stood beneath a broad old tree. 'You hold our stories,' she murmured. She sketched branches for generations. Lines connected dates, dreams, and faces. Wind rustled leaves, sounding like gentle applause.
In her bedroom at night, soft desk lamp pooling light, RCSTA slides completed family-tree pages into a thick binder. She exhales with a satisfied smile, hand resting on the neatly closed cover beside scattered pens.
That evening, RCSTA finished the chart. 'I know where I come from,' she smiled. She slipped the pages into a binder. Tomorrow, she would share. Tonight, she felt rooted and strong.