Saturday, August 20, 2022

Leaving the life of the house

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Shreya Christinahttps://cafe-madrid.com
Shreya has been with cafe-madrid.com for 3 years, writing copy for client websites, blog posts, EDMs and other mediums to engage readers and encourage action. By collaborating with clients, our SEO manager and the wider cafe-madrid.com team, Shreya seeks to understand an audience before creating memorable, persuasive copy.

One of the best things about summers in college is going home. Yes, we work wicked hours, but at least we can go back to our own bed and Mama’s cooking. I was in my dorm in May, counting down the finals I had left until I could go back to where I grew up. It’s hard to imagine, though, that I’ll never be able to count that again.

My mom has been talking to me about selling that house for years. But I never thought she would. It was one of those things that we flooded every month or so.

Within a few weeks of returning home this summer, I had the pleasure of watching the realtor hammer the for sale sign into the ground. Within forty-eight hours the house I’ve lived in since I was five had been sold and we had begun the process of moving out of the city that had always been called home.

I spent the better half of my summer wondering where I was going to sleep the last third. Luckily for me, my parents had pushed the closing date to the end of July, so I had some time to think about it.

My siblings, however, needed a little more time. While I was able to move in with my father for the past month, they had to come up with a living situation. One of them could have moved with me, but that wouldn’t have been the ideal situation for him. So he and my sister had to look for an apartment to find a new place to call home.

The last weeks of July were approaching faster than any of us had imagined. As soon as my parents returned from England, we rushed to pack and tossed out what we could in an effort to minimize the amount that had to be moved to the new location.

I moved into my father’s house in the last week of July, days before my mother’s house closed. Days later, on August 5, we left Connecticut and headed for the sunny shores of North Carolina, where we would hopefully find a new home.

Unfortunately for me, although my siblings and parents may have found their new home, I have become homeless. I always thought the term meant someone has no place to live, but now I define it as without a place to call home. I’ve been trying to get to know North Carolina for the past two weeks, but I’ll be flying back to Connecticut to move into my new dorm room, which will no doubt become my new “home away from homelessness.”

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