Personal Narrative: A Growing Up In A Trailer Home

Until I was eight I had lived in a trailer home with a deck built by my grandfather and uncles. It was always lively and filled with family. Aside from my three sisters, I had different sets of cousins who stayed for anywhere from months to years at a time. The house was never empty and something was always going on. We were always big on parties like many islanders are. We would have to greet all our aunties and uncles with hugs and kisses, keep our cousins entertained, and clean up afterwards. In a way this taught me to always take care of family. They’d last all night and we’d have food for days, but it was carefree and felt internal. Growing up back then it was like the time of my life, it’s like there was never a time where I felt alone. Growing up with so much support and encouragement to do any and every thing was a big reason why I have confidence in myself to do whatever I get involved in. Being raised in the trailer park, although it might not sound the greatest, was probably the best part of growing up for me.

And it seemed like after we moved, everyone else moved away, too and way farther than we did. Some to the West Coast, others to the East Coast, and our grandparents would move between here and Guam (and even Louisiana for a time). The parties happened less frequently, I recognized fewer people, and everyone always had a place to be. Even now, this house doesn’t feel like home. It’s empty, it’s someone else's place and we’re just living in it. Yet, that encourages me to hope for something more than this, dream of someplace better, strive to go places other than this and form bonds like the ones we had with the cousins we drifted