A place that is special to me, as cliché as it sounds, would have to be my room. All throughout my life my family and I have moved from house to house pretty consistently. Growing up I never thought of any place we would visit or where we lived as a special place to me because I knew within a year or two we would be living somewhere new. Packing up your whole life into brown cardboard moving boxes, getting into a moving truck that would always smell of cigarettes and sweat and going into a strange new house was fun for the first few moves; it felt like an adventure at first but year after year of the same routine it just started feeling normal to me. I used to think it was strange that my friends had never moved from their first house while I was going on to another house but as I grew up, I realized that it was strange to move as often as my family did. In total my family and I have moved from strange house to stranger house 12 times in my 19 years. Although I have always lived in Arizona but that is 12 new houses, 12 years of being the new kid at a different school, 12 years of unpacking just to repack 11 months later, and starting the cycle all over again. I could never keep track of the all cities we lived in, or the number of schools I bounced around and back to but I could always remember how my room was set up in every single house. I did not have a choice as to which new city we lived in or moved back to, or what new school I was blindly tossed into but I did have choice as to how my room could look. That was always my favorite part of moving, I knew no matter what I would be able to organize and decorate my room the way I wanted it to be. I used to think moving was kind of stressful to me because my family usually procrastinated until the day or two days before so my family would rush packing. We would go without sleeping for that day or those two days just packing everything and doing late night moving runs. But to me being