Another New Horizon :: Personal Narrative Writing

Another New Horizon What did Mississippi have in common with New York, Hong Kong, Boston, Australia, Vancouver, Venezuela, Montreal, the Philippines, China, and Toronto? Nothing. Those were my exact thoughts as my parents tried to explain why we had to move once again. With a missionary as a father, our family constantly moved from country to country. When we had finally settled down in Canada, I had hoped that I would, for the first time, find some stability in my life. I listened to my parents and nodded while my heart broke for the thousandth time. Though I was only nine years old, I felt like I had already lived a lifetime of good-byes. As I stumbled up the stairs, I didn’t even remember where we were moving to; all I knew was that it was my world we were now moving from. I thought of all the friends I had already left behind, and I couldn’t even bear to think of the friends I would now have to leave. On the morning we left for Mississippi, my father picked me and my brother up from our beds and gently laid us down on the back seat of our small car. He never woke us up, knowing I would cry all the way to the airport. I thought about my best friend, Tim, as we waited to board the plane. I had promised him I would never forget him. But my greatest fear every time we moved was that I would forget. I was afraid of losing mymemories—the only things I could keep with me no matter where I went. I feared that if I just looked away for a second, I would lose my most precious possessions. I wanted never to lose the memory of Tim’s face whenever he laughed at my jokes or the feeling of invincibility when I finally made my Australian school’s soccer team or even the boring French songs we sang in our Canadian classes. I worried that once the bruises from my Kung-Fu classes had healed, perhaps all of Sensei’s teachings would just fade away. I feared most of all that I would forget who I was—that once the memories had passed, the very soul of my being would slip through my fingers. I thought that perhaps with every place I left, an irreplaceable part of me would also be left behind. The passengers began boarding the plane, and my brother and I fought only half-heartedly for the window seat.