I am a singer. I am not a human, nor a girl, nor a sophomore in high school; all those things are trivial. I am a singer, and that is all you really need to know about me to know me. What I can tell you is that I am also a butterfly. Don't look at me expecting to see wings or anything because you won't. Sorry to disappoint you, but my being a butterfly is entirely metaphorical. My existence as a butterfly can be seen only through my singing.

When I was younger, I was a caterpillar. I knew I wanted to be a butterfly, but no one really cared to stop and appreciate me. I merely crawled along, knowing I wanted to sing, but not knowing what to do. Unenlightened and confused, I was almost completely unaware of my own potential. I was content to simply eat and sleep and breathe. My life consisted only of living, day in and day out. How terrible it was to be a caterpillar.

Soon after I turned eight years old, my parents enrolled me in the newly-founded San Diego Children's Choir - my cocoon. Here I was instructed on how to make the transformation from caterpillar to butterfly. I had it drilled into my head to sit up, don't talk, pay attention, don't doodle on the music, don't smile, breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. I was trapped in my cocoon and I hated it. I was impatient, always wanting to leave. No one had told me that by dealing with the cocoon I would become a butterfly. I wouldn't have believed them anyway.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I made my metamorphosis, and, to tell the truth, I don't really care that much. All I know is that one day I woke up and I wasn't a caterpillar anymore. The trapped feeling that I had come to associate with my cocoon was suddenly pried away. Blinking in the blinding light of my new-found freedom, I looked at my world. My world. I was in control. I had become a butterfly.

I am lifted by the colors of my own voice. The multitude of clear, precise notes that I can produce are my wings. People watch in awe as I float and flutter around them. They wonder if I really exist or if I'm just a dream. Silenced by the sounds of my wings, they learn all about me and wonder at my complexity.

My wings also give me the freedom to escape reality. The troubles of the world try to capture me in their net, but they always fail. I cannot be kept on the ground. I can go as high or as low, as rapidly or as slowly, as quietly or as fortissimo as I please. No one can tell me where to fly; they can only make suggestions. I am my own butterfly and my wings are only mine.

I expect my wings to take me to the edge of the sky, where day turns to night and clouds turn to stars. My wings are my prize, my beauty, my everything. I am, after all, a butterfly. Listen to the colors of my wings and that will be all you need to know about me to know me. I am a singer.