Sophia Carlson

Dear Ivy

In 1997, I was born on a stormy Friday the 13th to my mother, Ivy, short for Yvelisse. She taught me how to read and write at three years old, constantly encouraging me to ask questions and seek answers. A child with an insatiable curiosity, I absorbed every bit of knowledge that she offered me, sometimes filing it away for a time where I would later understand it. Most of my early childhood memories are comprised of my mom and I, coloring, playing computer games, reading, writing, and having morning tea over her intricate Japanese tea set. I began to develop a deep appreciation for quality time with the people I love, the budding of an expectation for quality conversations and good company.