Personal Narrative: Moving From Rockwall

It had finally arrived. Moving day. I was finally leaving my home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania after five short years and a sort of gloom lingered in the air. Although many teenagers would be excited to reunite with their family, friends, and childhood home, I, however, was frightened of the future. I woke up that morning and just laid there and listened to the sound of the rain pittering against the roof and windows, pattering against the surrounding forest in which I shared many memories. After what felt like centuries of just listening and reflecting, I got up and looked out the window. I looked at my neighbor's house across the field of grass which separated our houses and at the kids who had become like my siblings. I looked at the ice

I never knew this would be my last day here… in Chicago. I hate my dad’s job, this is why I'm moving. Moving cities every year is hard and I hate it. My parents don't seem to bother all that much, they do it mostly for the money. As all these thoughts ran through my head, time went by and I finally arrived at my new house. As I out, all I could feel was the cold wind hitting my face and leafs attacking my fresh new j’s. Looking ahead of my was the fourth and certainly not the last house of mine.

I'm from Round Rock, or for those of you who don't know where that is, we'll just go with Austin. Round Rock is great and you can find activities to find on some occasion, but when I am in Austin I am never bored. I used to go downtown a lot when I was younger with my Mother, Father, and older sister, but as my parents became busy and my sister and I became more involved in school we make the 20-minute travel to Austin less and less. I grew up with my two sisters and mother in the safety and growing town of Round Rock, but when I was able to drive my friends and I would make the drive downtown to enjoy the ambiance of Austin. I was given more freedom than my older sister was given in high school, but I couldn't complain my mother trusted me

My transition to Oak Knoll was excellent but arduous. I loved the spiritual community and the close knit class. But, I had a harder time adjusting academically. The rigorous academic classes at Oak Knoll resulted in a drop in my GPA. These grades don’t reflect my work ethic and I enjoy the challenge of a more difficult school. These were enhanced expectations that I couldn’t meet at the time. My lowered GPA resulted from a sickness that extended through my sophomore years. Once I was better, I was able to do better in school, which shows in my previous year grades. These year’s show my true academic potential. I am confident that I will be successful at the college I plan on

It was the last day of 10th grade, a whole summer of relaxation, freedom and sleeping were ahead of me. Or so i thought… Reality hit me right in the face with the word eviction. For years, we were expecting the eviction note, but we slowly forgot about it as life was getting better. There was more food in the fridge, the phone and tv bills always paid. We couldn't believe my mother once again screwed us over. The nightmare became our reality.

I open the front door and immediately see the 20 x 30 inch portrait we had professional taken last Winter. I see Adayln’s pearly white smile, Mason’s differently colored eyes that gleam brighter than a splash of water in sunlight. Tears rush down my pale face. I walk upstairs and into Kylar’s room. I am welcomed with his scent. His favorite colon, the one from Macy’s that Dad got him on his 8th birthday. He never missed a day without it on. I go to my room and gather my most prized belongings. The blanket that all six of us made at church, the small family collision of Kylar, Mason, Adayln, and I, the beaded necklace that Mason made me for my 13th birthday, the Pandora Ring that Mommy got me when I became a teenager, and so many more prized items that I fill it three moving boxes. I am ready to leave. I walk out and see my family smiling at

In the end, when bill after bill started coming in the mail we had decided to move to a small apartment building on the other side of town. My kids would have to leave their school and their friends and I would have to leave the home that I had come to love over the years. I knew that it would be a huge sacrifice, but there were better opportunities out there for us. Because the apartment was very small, we weren’t able to take all of our belongings. Some of them we kept and some of them we

My mother didn’t want me to go anywhere; she wanted me to be safe at home with her. We’d lived through the months of anticipation and planning together, and she’d shared my anguish at the end. I’d watched dry eyed as she folded small garments in tissue paper to take to the charity shop, her hands shaking, and listened to her weeping in the kitchen when she thought I wouldn’t

I sat in silence for a moment and took a deep breath. This was my home, did I really want to leave it? Despite hating the place it still meant a lot to me. I found comfort in it’s small town ways. The familiarity of it made me feel safe. I could navigate up and down the streets blindfolded I bet. But I knew in my heart that it was time to go. I looked up at my dad and he was watching me.

The door slammed on my way out of the old apartment building. No, I didn’t slam the door; it was a windy morning in the city of Chicago. As I was walking outside, I whispered to myself “This is it.” The wind was pushing against me, almost causing me to tumble over. Along with the wind, the smell of rain filled my nostrils and my clothing started to soak from just a five-yard walk from the apartment building to my dad’s truck. As soon as I got inside my dad’s truck, I was shivering from the ice-cold rain and piercing wind that was outside and I loudly sighed with relief. The slam of the door may seem like a negative thing, but it was actually the beginning of a better life for me. It was the sound of me breaking free from an affectionless prison

“Go pack. We’re moving next week,” was the first thing said to me one morning in fourth grade. As a fourth grader, this sentence was a stab to my little heart. I stared wide eyed at my parents, too shocked to say anything. The silence between my parents and I felt like an eternity. Breaking the silence I silently stuttered, “W-why do we have to m-move?” My parents broke eye contact with me; their faces were filled with shame. My mom looked at me and silently muttered, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

From the moment my parents picked me up from school, I knew something was wrong. There was this uncomfortable silence hanging in the air as we got our food and sat down in Five Guys. My sister and I kept glancing around the table as we waited for someone to say something first. Finally, my mom broke the silence and I thought my world was crumbling down. I don’t even know how my sister felt in that moment, but I knew it was harder for her. Our mom was deployed to Japan for two years. In those two years, we’d have to look out for each other, but especially for our dad because he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of two girls on his own.

Since my father stormed out, I was now alone in my room. My room wasn’t the same anymore. The light blue walls seemed like prison bars, trapping me inside a house that was not a home. My father’s words still rang in my head; dirty, stupid, slut, piece of—ding. I looked down at my phone. Four missed calls from Charlie Murphy. I let out a sigh of relief and

I opened the brown, dull door and found a giant smile, stretched ear to ear with my grandma’s face sitting behind it. My grandparents rushed into our house and my grandpa gave me a hug so tight that I could barely breathe. After they got settled in, my parents tragically walked out the door with their tightly-packed suitcases. My brother and I gave them each a huge hug before they speeded away for a serene vacation. My grandparents sat on the old grey sofa and bombarded my brother and I with questions about our current life. It was time for dinner and instead of the gourmet meals my parents usually prepare, Evan and I gorged on toaster-oven chicken fingers and microwave mac-and-cheese, the only meal my grandmother could perfect. I got ready to go to sleep and sat on my bed, deep in thought. I pondered on what my parents were doing, what they were eating for dinner, and what fancy hotel they would be staying at. I was happy that they finally caught a break from their stressful lives, but I also could not wait for them to return. Days passed by, and each day followed the same routine; Evan and I went to school, came home, did homework, ate dinner, and went to bed. On Wednesday afternoon, I came home and my brother was watching a basketball game, clenching the remote in his left hand. I complained that he was watching too much television and he fought back with explaining that he was older and had

We walked through the eerily silent, dark tunnels, with only a torch to guide us. Tears silently ran down my face, just like the snow falling silently to the ground. Except the snow was beautiful and pure, and my tears were salty as the sea, and they were tears for my family, not tears of joy. My heart has a gigantic hole in it, that is unable to recover from. I just lost my family, do you have any idea how much it hurts? First my sister, then my parents... why does the world have to be so cruel to me? With each step I took through the tunnels it felt like someone was dumping a pile of bricks on me, making me unable to continue.