It was a normal dinner at my house.  Keep in mind that it was 2011 and the Black Eyed Peas were still relevant.  We talked about things that families normally talk about.  We talked about my friends, school, and what we were going to be when we grew up.  After we finished talking about school, my parents brought up the idea of our family moving. They said that we would be moving to Pittsburgh for my father’s work.   The thought of moving 530 miles away from home seemed frightening. We were still in Illinois. The first thing I thought was how could I say goodbye to Katie, my best friend.

It was really weird having the for sale sign in front of my house.  People would come in and out, looking at our house.  I remember coming home from gymnastics and having to wait in the car because people were looking at my house.  They were looking at my room that I had to keep neat and tidy.  They were judging at every scratch on the wall that I called memories.   It felt strange that other people were going to be living in my house.  Strangers that I will never meet will make new memories in this house. The for sale sign and I had an interesting relationship. I guess because I tried to take it out one time.  My parents would come and go from Chicago to Pittsburgh. Which felt like they were in Pittsburgh more than home. It took my parents a long time to find a house in Pittsburgh but they found one they knew we would love.

The day the movers came it was a typical spring day, but it was pouring rain. As the workers came in and out of our house, I could hear the raindrops hitting the cardboard boxes. They started packing everything we owned, including my favorite teddy bear, and even my favorite pair of blue shoes.  Boxes and more boxes were taking up space in our rooms. The workers would come in and out of our house all day. The whole week they were there felt like a dream.  It felt like they were boxing up my whole life and putting it in their trucks. 

The last time I saw my house was when I was leaving to go to Katie’s lake house about 1 hour away.  I remember going through my house one last time with my best friend right beside me.  It was almost empty. I could smell the cardboard, and I could feel the summer breeze because all the windows were open.  I thought to myself, this is real; this is really happening.  This is the hardest thing I have ever done.  I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.  When I was about to get in the car, I whispered to myself,  “Bye house, I’ll always love you.”
         

The hardest part was actually leaving Chicago.  I cried almost the whole car ride. I could feel the cold teardrops falling down my face. When I would wipe them off, new teardrops fell. It was a cycle that kept occuring the rest of the drive.  When we arrived in Pittsburgh, I was reluctant to adjust to my new surroundings.  The thought of having to make new friends and start at a new school seemed very difficult.

But on the very first day, my mom told me that there was a girl my age who lived right by me.  I went over to her house, and we instantly clicked. Her name was Lily. Lily introduced me to the other girls my age in the neighborhood.  She made me feel like I was home.  

My favorite part about moving is having almost a double life.  Every now and then I think about my old house, my friends, and my old school in Illinois.   When I’m in Pittsburgh, I talk about how I used to live in Chicago.  And when I am in Chicago, I talk about my life in Pittsburgh.  Katie and I are still close. But I also have new best friends in Pittsburgh.  I guess I’m pretty lucky for having great experiences in both places.  

Now that we have lived in Pittsburgh for about 5 years, my family and I still sit down together for dinner.  We talk about the normal boring things that families talk about. Instead of talking about my old school, I talk about my new school. Instead of talking about my old friends, I talk about my new friends.  We also talk about my brother and sister going to college soon.  Instead of talking about moving to Pittsburgh we talk about our memories in Chicago.