By the time I was eight I had moved six times. Moving around was something that I had grown accustomed to. I didn’t like it, in fact I hated moving, but my parents always had a reason to move. Most of the time we moved because of my parent’s jobs. Normally when my parents told me that we were moving again I’d be a little upset. Moving meant I had to say goodbye to all of my friends. I would have to go to a new school and make new friends. However when my parents told me that we were moving to Canada I was shocked. Not only was I going to move away from my home, but I was also going to a new country. I didn’t know how to react to the news. The move to Canada had a new adventure feel. Part of me was curious and excited, but part of me was scared and anxious.
The worst part of moving is the packing. All of your stuff has to fit in boxes. Once everything is packed you have to hope noting gets damaged or lost in the move. Due to Nicole and I’s extensive collection of toys packing took days. With moves as big as this one my parents would try to have Nicole and I give up some toys to minimize the boxes. The weekend before a move is when the bulk of the packing happens. By Sunday night we were ready to go, everything was packed.
Driving from Virginia to Canada was extremely boring. The trip took over 16 hours. My dad decided that it would be
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After a couple of months of living in Canada we all adjusted, I started making friends at school. It turned out that Canada isn’t as different or scary as I had imagined it to be. In fact we found ourselves more confortable in Canada then we did in America. In America no one took interested in my culture, everyone expected my family to blend in with the American culture. When we moved to Canada I started to get ask what my background is, people thought it was cool that my parents are Colombian. We’re all happy in Canada. I just hope we don’t move again anytime