50 Word Post

For the first ten years of my life, I had a place. I lived in Long Island New York. My backyard was the most magical place in the world. We had a blacktop where we rode bikes, and drove the Barbie Jeep around, and a swing-set with three swings, a fort and a slide. There was my fisher price play house, set on the grass among the pine trees. I loved it back there, it was my place.

At 10 we moved to Luxembourg, yes as in the country in Europe. We didn’t really have a yard anymore, and even though there was a small garden, it wasn’t my place. This was evidenced through the teasing of my accent which I endured each day in classes, along with the fact that I couldn’t speak a word of French. I felt like an outsider most of the time because there was no familiar place to go and hide in the worst of times.

I found my place once more when three years later we moved to Baltimore Maryland. It wasn’t an instantaneous connection. At first I felt lost because I was the “foreign girl” but as time went on, I realized this was my place. My school with rolling green hills and beautiful buildings, my theatre program, my soccer field, it was my school. When I was elected president 4 years later, it only solidified my feelings towards Maryland. This was the place for me.