It's hard to understand how a person actually feels when they leave someone or something they love. I lost both, my closest friends and my home, when I moved from the sweet, suburban city of Princeton, New Jersey to the dynamic metropolitan of Mumbai. I still remember how the memories had rushed through my head the last time I walked through my empty house, situated on the side of Chelsea-Drive. How my heart broke as I watched the movers lay the furniture-filled cardboard boxes into a truck. The pale blue walls were painted white, and the royal blue, silk carpets torn out by its’ seams. It all seemed so strange, I grew up in that beautiful mansion, thoroughly kempt with a perfectly-mown lawn and waterfall-draping cherry blossom trees next to a shimmering pool.

As I'd sat outside on my stone-tiled steps, in front of the door, a gentle zephyr blew the small, pink petals of the blossoms out against the sloping driveway as the moving truck backed down the obliqueness withdrawing my possessions. Tears streaming down my face, I'd walked back into the house and up the empire-staircase to my room. I’d stared at it, stripped of all the pictures and furniture, realizing how many memories I’d had there. I'd reminisced about the time my best friend had come over and the two of us hid behind the large, cream colored sofa as my cousin hunted angrily for the two of us. We had rampaged into his room and slammed his laptop down, unknowingly deleting his entire IB essay, as he foolishly had not saved it! We’d run into my room, and hid in my small, white closet, near the white paneled window, giggling hysterically at my cousin's rage.

India was a distant land, unknown to me, even though it preserved my heritage. Would people mock my American dialect? I questioned myself as I’d walked along the narrow corridor leading to my mother's office. As I’d pushed the door open and meticulously stepped over the disorderly pieces of demolished cupboards, I'd reached a small, white, trapezium-shaped gateway in her office to an adjoining un-furnished space. This was where I'd hidden with my friends, when we’d thought a robber had entered my house. My mother had gone to Shoprite to get groceries, specifically telling us not to open the door for anyone. Soon after she'd left, we’d heard a door creak. At first, we’d assumed it was just the wind, but then we'd heard footsteps. Scared to death, we’d run upstairs to my mom's office and into that attic, holding but a knife and a phone in our hands. Kate and Amy had been shivering as we'd hid together behind a Christmas tree, hoping that someone would return promptly. That's when that same door had started to slowly open and the three of us had been paralyzed with fear, just to end up seeing my sister at the doorway. It had been her the entire time! We'd heaved sighs of relief as we came out of that attic. Ever since then, that small, dusty loft had been called our safe-house.

Once I'd left the office and had walked down the carpeted staircase, I'd peered out of the glass doors into my backyard. I had felt envious of the people moving in. They would get to sunbathe on the porch just as I’d done, swim in the pool that ignited my love for the sport, but most importantly befriend the neighbors that had been there for me since birth. All of them had seen my sisters and I grow up. I'd wondered whether they would just forget my family once we had moved away. All of the memories we had shared, all the snowball and water balloon fights, and every bonfire that came with every annual Thanksgiving night.

The rest of that day I had spent simply sitting outside, my feet dipped into the chilly water of my clear, blue pool. The sun shining on my face, and the smell of bushes of mint leaves behind consumed me, had left me wondering if I would ever come back here, to my utopia. My dad had called me to get into the car as we were leaving for the airport. I’d slowly removed my feet from the water, and left the pool area. I couldn’t believe that it had been time to leave already, as I’d closed the metal gates. As I’d ingressed the car, I’d taken one last look at that house. All the windows had been shut and the sun was glistening off the roof and the nature beneath it. I’d sworn to myself that I would never forget that house, and to this day I still have not.