Moving Yutong He

Nine - this number means the amount of times I have moved. I was five the first time I moved, and I remember looking at the big truck came and took away our packages. The fountain of water that bubbles near my new home was funny. Moving is great! I thought.

As I got older, I had to start helping my parent do the packing. Dragging out boxes one by one, I found that my shirt stuck to my skin because of the sweat; I felt tired, looking around our home, a series of my favorite books—The Children Literature were still on the bookshelf. “Mom, why are these books still here?” I asked her. “These books are no longer your level. Just leave them for the kids of the next family.” Mom dragged me away unceremoniously. As I looked back at those books, I thought about the time when I got lost in the mountain with my childhood friends and told them stories that I had read from those books. Our laughter, our childhood happiness and bliss, seemed to be gradually leaving me just as my mother pulled me to walk away.

Suddenly, the subsequent times we moved jumped into my head; I noticed that those seemingly useless items - items containing fond memories of the past - disappeared gradually with each move. I began to hate moving, so I questioned my...