I Really Hate Moving

Arpy Zargarian

I’ve been struggling to find the words to express my feelings about the idea of moving. I definitely feel a fiery urge to knock down the real estate sign hanging so surely in front of my house. I’ve also been finding it hard to do daily tasks, like getting out of bed and eating nutritious foods. I guess I want to embrace every last bit of the house I’ve been in for the past 20 years.

I’m a homebody, somebody who doesn’t really embrace the outside world. I revel in my sluggish ways. An unapologetic work-from-bed type of winner. I’m that friend who is on a Netflix-binge, being constantly blown up via text to grab a drink, only to look outside the window from her bed, laughing under the pizza-stained bedsheets at the idea of making an appearance.

It’s a bit heartbreaking. These walls are all I’ve ever known.
TV, however, makes moving look so appealing. I’ve come across scenes with a wholesome dad saying something like “Son, pass me that big box over there!” or siblings chasing each other up the stairs, producing echoes of their faint laughter through the empty halls, and teasingly yelling “I call this room!”
In this reality, it actually sucks. This isn’t a way for my family to bond and move onto a brand new chapter of our unconditional unity. I bet those screenwriters don’t even know the genuine emotional impact of moving.

I struggle to find some answers here: Where are we going? Will we ever get another house again? Is this the ONLY option? The answers come in cocktails of strong indifference, a big fat JUST DEAL WITH IT, and uncertainty.

You may be wondering why we’re moving at all. From the looks of it, Glendale is becoming a materialistic attraction for outsiders to love and locals to loathe. The commercialism of this once-upon-a-small-town is eating at its residents. More specifically, my family.

Our mortgage has gone up a whopping $2,000 and guess what – we cannot afford you anymore, Glendale! Yes, we have tried that whole refinancing deal, so please don’t assume we are blindly going with it.

I’ve lived with a father, a mother, and an older sister in the same house throughout my entire upbringing. Let’s just say if I were ever blindfolded, I would definitely know the difference between each room based on their distinct scents, energies, and creaking of the floors.

I even know all the hiding spots from the make-believe intruders and the creepy dungeon I can lure them in, to suffer and wish they never messed with the royal family.

I come from a pretty average family. An average family that was once able to afford their average mortgage in an average town.
It’s like a funeral of my youth. The next set of walls will not speak to me in the same voice.