A room no more

Just last summer, my parents decided to finally fulfill their dreams and build the house of their imagination that they had been planning for over ten years. Of course, I was excited about the process because not only would I be getting in a new, beautiful home, but I would not even be living at home during the majority of the construction. It seemed like a win-win situation to me.

The unusual part about our rebuild was that my parents decided they wanted to live in the same place, just a different house. To begin the progress on the house though, we had to knock down every nut and bolt of our old, faithful house. The deconstruction of my beloved home was piece by piece but when the giant machine of destruction finally got to the end of the house, got to my room, it was difficult to imagine never setting foot in that space again. 

I had lived 17 years of my life in that small room. The same room that had a light pink stripe going all the way around and had a shelf of dolls by the ceiling. The same room that shared a bathroom, and usually a locked door, with my older sister. The room that Little Mermaid tents were built in and forts made of blankets were designed and brought to life. The same room I had successfully killed multiple fish in and the room that I used to share with my little brother. Looking at the familiar room that I lived life in, I could not help but feel as if I was about to lose part of my childhood, part of my growing up, and inevitably part of me. 

It was and still is surreal to me knowing that I will come back to my new house time and time again and not feel the same connection and homeyness that I once did in the place that built me. My house left when I left for college, the only difference is I will be returning and it will not.