Breaking Away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly.

Breakaway - Kelly Clarkson

Feelings always change. People change. Time passes and nothing ever stays the same.

I am somebody used to this so-called change. Having moved to five states within my lifetime, living in a couple of different houses, I pretty much know the whole process like the back of my hand.

It starts with house hunting. Usually I'd sit in the backseat of our car, with my mom driving to different models of the latest and greatest houses; I'd stare at the new surroundings outside my window, fantasizing about where my new room would be and where all my toys would go. We'd meet the faces of our parents new best friends; our realitors. They'd work around our current house, fixing and cleaning and designing so that it was ready to sell. Almost as if they were taking away all that made it our own. If we stubbornly refused to clean our rooms, they usually bribed us with a large sum of cash. Back then, 50$ would do the trick.

As our house is being sold, we'd wait patiently for our new home to be constructed. My father felt obliged to build new, instead of buying out old ones. We'd visit the site occasionally to scope out how things were going, and to make minor adjustments in the floor plans.

That musky smell of a new house stuck with me forever. The scent of sawdust tingling in the cavities of my nose. The feel of the bare floors, gray and plain, prickling with nails and staples and sharp objects unsafe. The feeling of emptiness as I stood in a house with unfinished walls, unwritten memories. The noise of construction workers cutting and slicing and knocking and stapling.

The next step would be choosing carpets. Spending hours smoothing my fingers over each and every fiber, we'd take both texture and color into deep consideration; multicolored for the basements which became dirty often, long and soft for our rooms. Tiles were always a tedious process of our parents prying advice out of us. "This one or this one?" they'd say, pointing to two different tiles that practically were the exact same shade of pearl. Everything seemed so important to them.

Then we'd wait. Eventually we'd move into an apartment, staying there from up to a couple months until the building of our new house is completed. And right after we get situated in our tiny little apartment, we'd pack up all our things once again and move into our new living space. Boxes would be tossed up and about the house as we spent days unpacking and unwrapping.

And in a month, we'd be settled in and living life like nothing had happened. The awkward phase where places were still unexplored soon dissolved. The busyness of moving had subsided, and we once again had time to worry about movie stars and new television shows.

The whole process of moving is so familiar with me. But that doesn't mean it's easy.

It's never easy leaving the people you love behind. Just as I start meeting the most amazing people, just as I'm no longer considered the 'new girl' anymore, my entire life is swept away. Relationships start to break up, and old friends become the faces of strangers. The moving process would brace me for the times to come. It would distract me from the world I'm leaving behind.

Maybe moving has only made me weaker. Deteriorated my senses. My identity is now scattered throughout the country. It's harder to see who I really am. It's more difficult to meet new faces knowing there's a chance of losing them. I've lived in houses, but not homes. My home is somewhere within my soul. Somewhere I haven't moved to yet.

Maybe, just maybe, I've grown so used to change that it now runs in my blood. I expect it. I wait for it to come knocking, because sooner or later it always does.

But I hate change. I hate it. That musky smell of sawdust and those long car trips and airplane rides. They bring me such peace, but such pain. I've spent many days wondering why I hate change so much. Why am I so afraid to start something new? I'm so used to change. I grew up in it. But how come I don't accept it yet?

I'm happy where I am right now. I'm glad I moved here. But you never know when life can change. You never know when your entire world can be not just swept, but sucked out of you until you are once again lonely and hopeless. Change is never easy. Leaving what you left behind is heartbreaking.

I'm used to change. And I hate it. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that it has only made me stronger.

With every move, I tell myself it's a new beginning. A fresh start. I always find the faults in my past, and try to eliminate them from my future. I try changing myself. Maybe this time I'll make more friends. Maybe this time I'll become a better person. Maybe this time I won't get into so many fights; be so lonely; be so lost and confused. And maybe, just possibly, I'll stop being so damn shy and face the world.

With every move I believe I grow stronger.

Maybe looking at it optimistically has given me some foundation of strength. Maybe there's a purpose for going where I'm going. Maybe I can learn something amazing, or teach others about my life experiences. Maybe I can change the world, because I myself understand change. I've seen so much. I've witnessed so many different problems and faced so many challenges, some of life or death. I am who I am today because of everything I've seen. Everything I've lived through.

I would never wish to move from here. I love where I am. I love all my friends and the people I've met. But I am here because of where I've been. So for that, I am thankful for.

Just in case you're worried, I am not moving. The purpose of this post was simply to inform you about my view about moving.