“Ramsha.”

I heard a faint voice call in the back of my mind so I payed no attention to it.

“Ramsha.”

Once again, I ignored the voice.

“Ramsha!”

I heard the voice louder this time and forced myself to snap back into reality. “Come here and help me with the boxes.”

My feet dragged along the floor as I walked towards my mother, who was in the middle of what seemed to be a fortress made out of boxes. The house in which I had lived almost all of my life, the walls in which all of my memories filled the atmosphere, was empty. Everything was gone. All of the furniture, food, personal belongings, were stuffed away, tightly packed in cardboard boxes being thrown roughly onto a big truck.  I was confused, so confused on why I was numb. I have been told repeatedly, asked constantly, to explain how I felt about leaving everything behind and moving away. My answer should have always been either the warm feeling of happiness or the cold damp feeling of sadness where the world around you seems to fade in color and the time freezes so you can just stare out into the oblivion, overthinking your problems, but instead of a direct answer, I always told people that I didn’t have any emotions for the move at all.

This numbness could have been the result of the tiring struggle of packing everything, from the cups in the kitchen to every little piece of fabric, to the millions and millions of toys my brothers owned, overflowing the floor of the basement. Although, this seemed like a pretty valid reason, I do not believe that was the truth.  I was numb due to being told all year that we were leaving, being told that there a new opportunities waiting for me, being told that I should be strong and cooperate as much as I can, give everything I have, because my parents needed it and instead of believing in all of that, I chose the selfish decision to not feel anything, to close my doors and hide in the closet of my heart for a little while, only to come out when everything seems okay and I feel safe.
My family and I took one last tour of the house, and in that time we were silent, thinking about all the actions committed in that place, whether it be good or bad, all of the times spent together in that house, and all of the things that we took for granted. I went up the stairs, to walk into what I onced called my bedroom. The window was open and I couldn’t help but notice how the soft glow of the sun illuminated the room. The sun shined warmly on my face and as I closed my eyes, I could feel the soft yellow sunlight trickle into my skin, making its way to my soul and giving me a little ray of hope.

At that time I wished to go back, back to when I was 5, when I walked my first steps into the house. I wanted to stay and replay all of the memories, but I had to get into the car to leave, for what I thought was forever. I threw my wishes off the railing of the long banister, for we were about to embark on a long journey. After saying one last farewell to the house, I climbed into the car, wondering if this truly was happening. I stared at the mini garden we had in the front porch, remembering back to the time when my dad and my sister went outside and dug up the dried up soil, replacing it with a rich brown fertilizer.

***
“Daddy, did I dig this hole big enough?” I recall questioning my father.

“ No honey, just a little bit more and we can pull the plant out…” he replied as he dug the weeds out.

  “But why, my hands and legs and feet and head hurts!” my seven-year-old-self complained.

“Just a little bit more and we’re are done,” my dad reassured me. “And then we can eat some yummy popsicles.”
“Yay, popsicles!” my sister said as she jumped around excitedly.

I remember pulling out the weeds and how devastating it felt for me as a child when I discovered that a rabbit ate all of the delicious red strawberries that I worked so hard to grow. The best part was when we ate popsicles after all of the work was done and how refreshing it felt after spending an hour or so under the scorching, hot sun.

***

Now I look around and foresee the plants being barren in the winter with my family and I not here to take care of them. I take one last look at my house and the driveway, knowing that I will miss the scene of the long row of trees lined alongside the front of each house in the condo complex as the leaves turn into a painting of yellow, red, and orange, mixing together to accompany the chills of autumn. As I was taking that one last look, I realize that I needed to accept the present and forget about the past, not only for myself, but for others too. My family and I drove onward to the road, anxious on what the future will hold yet grateful for all that we have experienced.