My journey to an unstable life


Maria Devroy, Staff Writer

Moving to Africa. Not having friends. Switching schools. Finding friends. Losing friends. Switching schools. Moving back. Being the weird kid. Divorce. Bad friends. Finding stability.

Stability has wrecked me.

I have always craved change. Ever since fifth grade, when my mom decided to pick up our family and move us halfway across the Earth, I have craved the thrill of confusion and instability. And for years, my unstable life has kept me busy, on my toes and moving. But, now I am stable, and I hate it.

School. Homework. Workout. Friends. Family. Name brands. Expensive clothes. Normal.

But I am not normal. Name brands make me feel ill, being in one place makes me anxious and staying inside writing notes makes me depressed. The identity I have been preoccupied in creating for myself inside these walls is not me. I am not the money that my parents make or the designer clothes that I have asked for for Christmas.

That is not me.

I don’t know where I am, or what I am doing and why I am acting everyday as if it is just any day, and not the adventure my life used to be.

Instability has made me who I am, but I am not that person anymore. That person is merely a distant memory. That was the person who went to villages and hiked mountains in Africa; she would tell anyone that would listen about all of the crazy sights she’d seen. Oh, the stories she would tell, the travels of a foreign land. They were like nothing you’d heard before.

But, that girl is gone now, and she has been replaced with a lethargic shell of a human, simply trying to get through the day.

I can’t say that I know how, but she’ll be back one day, telling about times she spent swinging into rivers with people she had just met. My journey to an unstable life is merely a thought, but one day, it will become my reality.