Bellelli Style Essay

The family portrait I have located is almost five years old, yet it still feels like someone had taken the picture just yesterday. The three individuals standing in the portrait are my mother, my younger brother and I. Either the flash has made the sunlight disappear or the image is very old, the atmosphere is marked with the bitter aftertaste of melancholy. Then, I remember this had been the day I left Germany.

My mother stands the tallest behind us, adorned in her favorite color, a rosy pink. On her face is set a somewhat grieved expression, but light and full of levity enough for the picture. She probably has her hand resting on my brother's shoulder, suggesting her authority over us and her protection and care under her wing (well, for the time being). It's almost as if she doesn't want to let go and wants to remain in that exact moment forever, where both her daughter and son are naÐ"Їve and innocent of the evils of the world.

On my brother's face is an expression that wreaks immaturity: he has puffed up his cheeks like a blowfish. Apparently, to him this picture does not matter, really. He is just there because he'd been forced to, unable to play with his playmates and bored, looking for something distracting to do. He is wearing a yellow shirt with the American flag splattered in the middle. Only five years ago would you see me in that girly dress, the red that matches the rose bush behind me and the ivory skirt that matches the ivory wall of the house behind me. The pathway leading to the side of the house is clean and spotless. The trees are full and green, with August just around the corner. All of the members of the family seem relaxed, despite the different expressions on their faces. My face smiles for no other reason than to appear smiling on camera. Perhaps I did not want to reveal my true apprehension at leaving my cousins behind and returning to the hectic and chaotic disaster they call New York