Personal Narrative: Moving To Bath, England

For dinner, I eat the apples I brought home from school. I’m suddenly interrupted by a loud ringing at the doorbell. I jolt off the couch and shut off the TV. Who could be at the door? Nobody ever rings the doorbell. Papa and I never lock the door because we can never find our keys. Mama’s inside, so it can't be her. Nobody else ever comes over. I drag a chair over to the door and stand on it to look through the peephole. There’s a stranger outside. She stands tall and is wearing a professional looking blazer like those lawyer ladies on Suits. I have to clean up! One should always clean up for guests. I look around from my perch on the chair, looking around

4,097 people. That was the population of Centralia Missouri in 2011. Moving had never been an issue for me, when your dad is in the military you get used to it. This time it was different than any other time. My parents were divorcing and my mom was forcing me to move to a town with only 4,097 people opposed to my home in Virginia with 225,401 people.

It had been along time since something new had entered my world. Amongst the ruins of our space elevator, I sat, head bowed, and payed my respects to a whole civilization lost. The rusted steel and crumbled mortar only amplified my grief. Rotating my mandibles I rose, and scuttled out into the hive proper, or what was left of it. There used to be noise, movement all accross our home, the workers furthering the goals of our Mother, the advisors contstatly planning our expansion into all of the fertile worlds of our system. Now, as I move through the entrance mound, there is only silence, and the sound of my chitin clicking harshly against the floor, echoing in a way I had once found eirie.

I moved to Connecticut in the September of 2008 because my Dad had a job transfer. This was around the time that I started the second grade. I was introduced to so many people and they were all so nice to me. Six years later, I made countless friends and started to feel like Connecticut was where I wanted to stay forever. But in December of 2014, my Dad got a phone call from a company in South Jersey and they wanted him to work for them. At first, he worked 3 days in Camden, and the rest of the week in Connecticut. That was difficult though because we did not get to see him as often as we wanted to. My parents then sat my brother and I down and asked us if we wanted to move to South Jersey. I did not know what to think. After six years, I loved living in Connecticut and I wanted to stay there. They told us that it would be a lot easier to move down to Jersey instead of my dad traveling every week. My brother and I both agreed that this is what we are going to have to do. I can still remember that day though. It seemed liked the world was going to a scorching end. At least my world was. I started to tell my friends that

My legs are shaking with pain, but I need to know where I am and what strange things lie outside of that door way. Slowly I am making my way there, I hear people having a conversation just outside. I haven’t a clue what they are saying, it seems to be in some odd language. Finally I’m at the door. Terrified, I grab the knob and start to open it. It squeaks when I swing it open. In the hall I see no one, just white walls with white tile. “What the,” I say to out loud. I could have sworn I heard someone. My eye catches my room number, 387, it has my name on it. I look right and left, but see nothing expect florescent lighting and shut doors. I go to the door across from mine and try to open it. Locked, that’s odd. I try the next one, locked once again. I keep going, now at room 365 I give the knob a turn and it actually comes open. I hesitantly wander into the area. It looks the same as mine, minus the painting on one of the walls. It is an extremely abnormal painting. It depicts an out of the ordinary creature. “Why would this be in a hospital?” I whisper to myself.

I come from the small town of Caribou, Maine. “Why so far north?” You might ask. Well, my father took a job as meteorologist for NOAA in Caribou following his retirement from the Air Force after 20 years of service. I moved to Maine in August of 2008, exactly 9 years ago; however, Maine is the 4th location I’ve lived in after Virginia (my birthplace), Alabama, and North Carolina.

It was June of 2013 and I was in my room cooling, watching “Good Luck Charlie”. My mom came into my room saying that she was ready to move out of New York. Obviously I did not want to move out of the city I was born in. My mom never liked living in New York, so she always thought about moving. So the plan was to move in August. Time went by and I was thinking about what North Carolina would be like. I really wasn’t thinking about the friends I was leaving in Brooklyn, that never crossed my mind.

The day I moved from Rockwall to Crandall was a day I’ll never forget. It was a strange couple of days. The day we moved was extremely saddening.

January 2015, I moved to Bothell, Washington from Kirkland, Washington. Moving to a new city means moving to a new school. I did not like that idea. I already had a bunch of friends in Kirkland, I couldn't just leave them out of the blue like that. Plus, it was in the middle of the school year.

Finally. After 16 years of living with my family, I am making the big move to boarding school. I am moving to Melbourne, to pursue my AFL dream. The weeks leading up to this day, I knew my family were happy for me. I was chasing my dream and starting a new chapter of my life. I could also see that they were upset, because they would miss me a lot. As for me, I would miss them very much too. But there was no doubt in my mind about moving. I couldn’t wait. Walking out onto the runway, the sun peeking through the horizon and my body is telling me there’s no going back now. I board the plane and take my seat. I put my headphones on and close my eyes. I remember all the good times I’ve had in this town. And as the plane takes off I stare out

Even though I’ve eaten lobster rolls, sported L.L. Bean jackets, and cruised lighthouse-studded coastlines, I am anything but a New-Englander. Though this has been by 4th year in Massachusetts, I still feel like I’m still the new kid on the block, the midwestern girl who’s naive to the traditions and expectations of New England. But, I am comfortable here, a result of many challenges I had to face over the time I spent in Massachusetts. These challenges did not arise when I first moved out—I was very unhappy the first and second year—it was during Sophomore year, when I started to adapt and be happy, did challenges from home spring forth on me. These challenges were from the people that I had left, family, friends, and others who felt that

When I was little, I was very shy around new people. I usually only showed who I actually was around my family. I didn’t have a friend who I could be myself around, they were usually just friends who I would play with at recess. That was until everything changed, and I moved across the town of Derby.

In 1752 at the age seventeen years, I was a destitute living in Scotland, Ireland. With no real skill-trade or education I had high ambitions to become a collective dependant, hoping to achieve a stable lively-hood in the New World. I lost most of my loved sickness. The only few relatives remaining were as impoverished as myself. Fearing there would be no prospect of a better life in Scotland I contracted myself as an indentured servant in exchange for passage to the New World. I and many others boarded a merchant ship that specialized in the trade of textiles and dress making. It was in the interest of the captain to keep us fed and in decent health to be sold for profit to proprietors in the colonies. Our voyage to New York would take 8-9

The aspect that related to me the most this week was the chapter on relocation. My relocation was actually pretty self-centered in that I wanted to be close to my family after having a child. I remember growing up in Kankakee and coming back for a year after undergraduate studies and having big dreams for the city of Kankakee, but none of these dreams were involved with my decision to move back. When Perkins opens up with the chapter of relocation there is a statement that stood out to me in regard to this matter. “Of the three R’s that anchor the guiding philosophy of the Christian community development movement, relocation is clearly the most distinctive and troublesome.” (Perkins, 75) Relocation to the Kankakee area was easy, because

Many factors influenced me to choose Victoria as the choice over NSW, like cost of living, culture, transportation, safety and people. Now a days NSW became too much crowded and mechanical.