It was the cherub talent show, we were all packed into the piano lounge, and I had no intention of going on stage. Then, when a group performed Hamilton, Junseo and I immediately started shouting the lyrics at the top of our lungs. An idea spawned in my head. What if we went out and rapped “Guns and Ships?”
We both jumped at the idea and, before I knew it, I was flying across the room as Marquis de Lafayette. After our enthusiastic performance, I checked GroupMe and, to my surprise, saw images of myself. Not just images, but memes – a hallmark of teenage shenanigans. These simple pictures meant something more to me. I had arrived a few days late to the program and still felt like I was settling into the group. What might be seen as an unassuming joke to most showed me that I was now truly a cherub.
Fast forward to Sunday. It was the morning, and that can only mean one thing: the dreaded Spit List. We had been led to a playground, of all places, and sentenced to play. Naturally, my half-asleep brain searched for a place to sit. The playground car was perfect. Maybe my legs didn’t exactly fit, but it worked.
Hours later, the memes appeared in the group chat. My expression of fatigue became an outlet of the joy and pain that encompass cherub life. These edited pictures were part of a larger community. Fellow cherubs took snapshots in time and created a message of support and understanding.
It’s the little things, like memes, that count.
