My grandfather built our house sixteen years ago with my mother and father's help. They spent hundreds of hours working to make it our dream house. Like many people, my parents had worked very hard so that they could live in a nice area in the suburbs and give their children a good education. Most people strive in life to live in a pleasant and safe home. The house had everything anyone could have wanted with a manicured lawn and spacious rooms. I had been living there for my whole life. I felt secure with my life coming home everyday to the same place. It gave me stability and a sense of comfort. Then I began to realize that things in my life were not always going to be the same.

At first my mother tried to shield me from finding out about how much debt our family was in, but overtime it became more evident. I heard my parents talking one night. My mother said, “We can’t keep doing this anymore. The taxes are too high and we can’t afford it.”

“This is our home. We only need to cut down on spending,” my father replied. As I overheard them arguing I realized that our lives were about to change, but my parents never explicitly told me we were actually going to move. A few months after that incident I starting coming to terms with reality.

Moving day came abruptly. I felt my chest caving in and had to blink to hold back the tears because I knew that when I started to cry I would not be able to stop. I knew once I let myself stop and think about what was happening, I would get lost in my thoughts and feel overwhelmed and discombobulated. I kept staring at the brown plain boxes laying in my room. Stop being stupid I told myself. This is such a small change and there is nothing to be anxious about. Maybe I was being too dramatic. I was only moving to an apartment in the next town, but I was leaving the only home I had ever known. I was not leaving any of my friends. I was not going to a new school. I was not leaving the country. My life was only changing slightly. I still felt like it was something scary. It’s not like this was unexpected. I had known for well over two years that eventually we would have to move. My mother once explained to me, “We have to move. It’s too much stress and it’s necessary. Your dad and I are having some financial problems. It’s just too much.” I realized that this was going to help my parents. This was going to be positive. I knew in my head that this change had to be done, but still a sadness fell over me. It was only because I hated change. Change scared me because my routine would be broken. That meant that everything would be different from now on. The change came quicker than I had anticipated. For the past month I had been ignoring what my mother told me, trying to stay focused on friends and school.

I was standing in my room on moving day when I head my dad yelling, “Bring your boxes down!” I picked up one box that seemed to hold a thousand bricks in it and made my way down to the car. I repeatedly did this with each box that I had hurriedly stuffed with junk. When everything was done, I stared again at my empty lifeless room. Over the past year, my whole house had changed. It was constantly being redone. But my room had been the one area that always stayed the same. It had been my safe haven. I had decorated and done the way I wanted it to be. It was my home where so many memories had been made. Millions of memories that would soon fade away as time went on. At first the memories would be crystal clear, but then they would slowly dissipate and disappear altogether as if it was like they never happened. I shook myself out of my thoughts because I had started to choke up and it was time to leave. Moments later my dad yelled to me, “Time to go!” I could feel everything changing and could do nothing in my power to stop it.

We arrived at the new apartment. I heaved the boxes up to the apartment. I sat down in my new room surrounded by the boxes I had quickly packed. The room had a dusty scent since my furniture had been moved over. The furniture gave the room a sense of familiarity which comforted me. There was so much I needed to do; it seemed endless. I needed a second to breathe first. After I got a grip of myself, I started unpacking. I ignored the sounds of my dogs barking and my parents fighting. I focused on what needed to be done. I unpacked the boxes that had all my belongings from home. I crammed my clothes into the closet and shoved my shoes down below. I realized the amount of school work that still needed to be done. I knew that their was no way I could focus on it when everything was so chaotic. Hopefully once everything settled down, I would feel a bit more relaxed and my new home would give me a sense of ease.

I managed to unpack all my stuff hours later. We had brought over all my personal belongings in the boxes and they allowed me to start a new life. Even in my sadness, it gave me a small amount of hope that overtime everything would be okay. I had my friends and family who would make this okay. They would help make this new place home. Moving made me realize the strength needed to prevail over huge obstacles in life, because at first it was difficult for me to adjust. I learned that everything must come to an end, but eventually other things will replace them.