Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
Before my younger brother, my mother and I moved to San Diego with my oldest brother and my grandmother, our life in Stockton was going just fine. I just started freshman year with all my friends from my junior high class at Weston Ranch High School. My father would help me with sports and my older brother would suggest the different classes to take at Weston Ranch High School. Things ran smoothly until I started hearing my mother tell my father that she wanted to move to San Diego. These discussions would be late at night and because my room was next to theirs, I could hear mostly everything through the paper thin walls. My heart sank as the sleepless nights proceeded, and the decisions grew more and more grim. After two long months I could drastically see a change in how my parents acted and one day my mother told me that we would be moving to San Diego. It was so sudden and out of no where, I didn’t know what to say. I thought to myself, “I never had a say in what was happening, it doesn’t matter what I say.” I was fine until she also told me that my father would be staying here. My heart skipped, and I became very confused, I tried to think of what to say, but every word I knew was now gone. “He’s staying here? Why? What’s happening?” I finally said after I took hold of reality.
“He wants to continue teaching so he can have enough experience to find a job in San Diego when he moves with us.” I accepted what she said and thought about what was going to happen.
As each day passed, I grew more anxious about what was going to happen, finally realizing that I’m actually leaving my friends and family...