Descriptive Essay About My New House

My sisters and I all squished together on the small couch. So finally after what felt like twenty years, mom and dad said “We’re moving”. My stomach dropped. I loved this house, it was the only house I could remember living in, it was home. ”Where are we moving to?” I managed to say, hoping it would be across the street or something close. “Georgia!” she said with a soothing smile and hope and excitement in her eyes. Of course I didn’t want to move, especially out of state, my nine year old self was devastated, and before I knew it boxes were

In my lifetime, I have lived in 4 different homes. None of them can even compare to the very first home I lived in, in my hometown of Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a quaint duplex home that was on a tranquil street underneath a towering maple tree. Nothing will ever be able to replace its permanent spot in my heart.

Everyone has a “dream house”, they just rely on your opinions and beliefs. You can have a modern dream house, or maybe a vintage dream house. You can also either live in the woods, in the city, or even right by the beach! You can be by yourself, or you can have lots and lots of roommates. You can have lots of neighbors, or maybe even none at all! You could live off of a mountain, or maybe on a paved street.

Moving is hard for anyone, especially if you’ve lived most of your life in one certain place. I dreaded the words coming out of my mother’s mouth. I didn't know what lie ahead. On the other hand, it turns out we're moving to buy a house, this is the first time we ever bought a house we usually just rent them. I was familiar with the house my Uncle Jimmy used to live there. I was just reluctant to leave all that I knew behind and start all over. I know that I was only eleven years old at the time of this “big” move, but it felt like it was happening all so fast. No one likes being the new girl at school.

Sometimes letting go can be the best change in life. At first it may seem difficult, holding onto something that had so much time and effort invested into. However, if at the same time, its inhibiting from living a comfortable and productive life, then it may be necessary making an adjustment. In my case, my adjustment was leaving an apartment. At the age of eleven, my family; which included my mother, father, and two brothers, had moved into our last apartment. A home should feel comforting, warm, and safe. This apartment was definitely something I wouldn't be proud to call home.

Down the street and around the crescent, by the dented stop sign, the third house on the left, the one with the loose brick by the chimney. The one with the black doors and the black roof and the dark bricks and the windows with a white trim- it looks like a distorted face staring at the empty space ahead. That’s my house. The one with the misshapen, nearly dead tree, that taps and scratches at the window when the wind blows, like a spirit warning me to escape while I still can. That’s my house. The house that gives people the chills when they walk by, the one people cross the street to avoid, and the one little children run by and tell stories about. The feeling we get can only be compared to the feeling we have when we drive by a graveyard. Sadness. Eeriness. Yes, that’s my house.

When I was young, I would often dream of becoming a crewmate on a seaworthy vessel, battling high, intimidating and ferocious tides. Apart with having the maneuvering ability to go through tight nooks and crannies to explore uncharted waters. Part of this was due to my imagination, but a large influence was given by my house, which seemed like a fine boat itself. Surrounded by unconstructed houses which seemed like unmapped area, and numerous resemblances to pirate ships such as a flag flying off the balcony, my childhood home was the perfect place for a blooming imagination to run wild.

In a small town called Whigham located in the southwest part of Georgia is a home numbered 201 in the middle of Harrell Avenue Northwest. The home is shaded by a mighty oak tree, its exterior is white in color with a forest green metal door and window trim painted forest green to match the door. On the outside this house is full of plant life, two domestic dogs that guard the home from morning to night, and wild animals living off the provisions of the land. The inside of the house is full of geckos, family, and love. This is the house I was raised in since my mother and father brought me home from Grady General Hospital in the month of January in 1991. This home will forever be my safety and my delight.

The back door of the moving truck slammed shut, making me slightly jump gasping in surprise. I turned in my seat and look at the house, I've lived my whole life in. Gloomily I stare remembering all the happy and sad times I've had here.

On a dry hot day in the middle of August, I was awaken to mother’s happy voice saying, “We ‘re here guys!” My excited family and I had just arrived at our two-story brick house at a beautiful resort called “Ding Ding Castle” in Orlando, Florida. My mom, Aunt Wanda, Uncle TJ, cousin Cameron, friend Ronald, Grandmother Doris, Granddad Carlton, sister Kenzie, cousin Kaylan, and I were all planning on staying one long week together. When I got out of the car, I immediately smelled the fresh air and smoke from someone having a barbeque nearby and could taste the fresh grass that had just been finely cut. The bright yellow sun was beaming down on us, making me sweat instantly. I looked around and saw the rows of houses next to each other and noticed that each one had its own personal swimming pool in the back. There were tall palm trees in each yard and every house had new and shiny cars in the driveway. Our house was two stories high and was made of bright red bricks that made it stand out from all of the other houses. The house was surrounded with light green grass and had a porch with dark blue chairs sitting in a row. It was definitely one of the biggest and prettiest houses I had ever seen

As humans, we associate the word isolation with negative feelings. And being told I was moving to a foreign island across the world that I had never previously heard of had me chalking up isolation negatively as well. The island is very small and doesn’t have all the resources that can be found here in America and you have to take a plane just to get to mainland Japan. My experiences with this isolation over four years altered Okinawa into what I now consider to be my home. My home is a secluded island that shaped me as a person by providing me with the tools and distance to educate different aspects of not only my life, but others as well.

Up to this point in my life, I have lived in two homes, though the one I live in now is where I have primarily lived. I have so many vivid memories from these two places that I am constantly looking around remembering all of the good times I had. Moving into my current home was not only a decision to expand on our living space, but give both me and my sister a good place to live. Between the less than desirable neighbors and the small cramped environment, it was a necessary choice to move an I couldn’t be any happier for it.

I turned around, looking back at my old room. The paint on the wall is peeling off, the ceiling was falling apart, and the floor was cracking open. This was the house I have been living for thirteen years, and now I need to leave. Mom and dad bought this house from an old man, then thirteen years past, this is 2004. yes, it is already 2004, how fast is it! I stood there, staring at the empty room with only a little furniture. I can’t feel home, where is my home? I don’t know this weird feeling. Happy and sad at the same time. However, if I left, is it going to be an enjoyable life, or it is going to be another way that leads me to my doom? I kept repeating in my mind.

My dream house is a giant mansion in the HollyWood hills. The outside is covered in marble walls and complex designs. As you step step up to the golden gates of the property, you are instantly greeted with the sight of a giant 50 foot building laying in front of an enormous lake. As you approach the lake, you can see as the water moves gracefully with the warm Spring wind. Once you approach the edge of the lake, if you look to the right you will see a massive field of roses and many rare flowers. If turn around and walk away from the lake and move to the left of the building you will be greeted with the sight of a giant 60 foot 200-year-old palm tree with coconuts near its top.

The days go by as we started moving our things to the storage facility to empty the house. We only had a few minor necessities and our clothes to take to Miami. Looking inside our house, there was just the plain tile floor with cracks and the brown washed walls with line marks as the couches rubbed against them. I peered into the hallway as the three rooms being my mom 's, sister, and mine was empty from top to bottom stripped of color and comfort. The house sat quiet, undisturbed. The emptiness of the house made me feel bitter as I was leaving a part of me that lived here for years..