She was not made of her own volition.
She hadn’t asked to be created and hadn’t known the moment she went from being cells to spirit. She often wondered if she had — been — before her bright eyed arrival onto this green planet.
She was born of happy — unlikely — accident to two people who did not want to have a baby. But they were in their honeymoon stage and accidents can happen when people are still so in love.
She often wondered if the circumstances of joy and the bubbly feeling of love that called her into being had any effect on the personality she’d been given or the unquenchable joy that always eventually appeared right in the most difficult days.
She often wondered the same thing of others. What of the ones who were not made from love but from duty — or from terror — or from anger. Did the mood under which they were made effect them from their first to last breath?
Is personality nature or nurture? Does it begin before a person takes a breath, as they are surrounded by the true and natural feelings of a mother living out her given life? Or is it pliable and, like red mud, mold-able until the hot sun warms it into hard fact?
When she was called into being, was it the joy of the momentary accident that out-won the fear of the reality of new life.
Will it be joy that pushes her through again, when all of the long days have passed?
Will she remember that she was before she wasn’t?