[ WP ] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon . However , this is just a coincidence ; there is absolutely nothing magical about it , and you 're getting really tired of explaining this .

`` So...'' Internal sigh. Here it comes. `` Where are you from?'' 
 
 That question. You're so tired of not answering it, because you never really do. Not to the satisfaction of whoever asks, anyways. You pretend not to hear the expectation in their tone, the way their eyes break from yours just slightly and focus instead on *that* -- the point high on your cheek but near enough to your eyes that they suspect you wo n't notice. ( You always do. ) 
 
 `` Virgina,'' you answer, `` but I mostly grew up around here. My family moved to the city when I was little.'' You can see the veneer of something -- not quite pity, but close -- wrinkle their brow immediately. It does n't make any sense, there's nothing special about *Virgina*... followed by rising, incredulous wonder -- it's a sort of glow, widening of the eyes, a sudden weightlessness that comes from pure, innocent joy -- as they realize: you do n't *know. * ( Except, you do. ) 
 
 They're always eager, flush with the thrill of imminent discovery, but some hide it better than others. It's almost a shame to let them down, but it's not you're fault they all make the exact same mistake. They must have some sort of organized community, right? A monastic order, maybe. A temple somewhere in the mountains, where they gather each year to collectively meditate on the meaning of life and the universe; and maybe they spend an hour or two on that prophecy about the child with the dragon-shaped birthmark. Honestly, you'd think after the first few years, someone would send a message down the ancient prophecy grapevine or whatever: `` Hey, just so you know, if you see this person ( see encl. photo ), with what looks like the mark of prophecy, do n't bother because apparently it's just a normal birthmark. Nothing remotely magical about it *at all. *'' 
 
 If there *is* such a message floating around, this guy did n't get it. 
 
 `` What -- what about your parents?'' he stumbles, visibly excited. `` Where did they come from?'' You do n't role your eyes, as you did when you were younger, before you learned to play the game. 
 
 `` Wisconsin and New York,'' you say, knowing this will only frustrate the poor man. 
 
 `` No, I mean,'' he struggles, searching for the right words, before eloquently settling on, `` where are they *from*, like, where were they born?'' 
 
 The sigh come out for real this time. `` Here. America. They're Americans.'' And because you're already bored with dancing around the heart of the matter, `` I know what you're asking. It's just a birthmark, I'm not your ancient-prophecy-messiah or whatever.''
