The flicker of a lamp powered by a dimly lit lightbulb flashed in intervals onto the cracked concrete path. Scattered shrub shavings, dried pine needles, and petrified insects encrusted the crevices left in between the cement squares. The long and narrow path led up to a strong yet aged wooden door that stood at the foot of the house. The house held nine people, three cats, and many tribulations to come. At first glance the house might’ve seemed ordinary; it had five bedrooms, two bathrooms, a laundry room, living room, kitchen etc. Everything had its place and looked like a cohesive decorated house except for one thing… the tiles. It seemed as though every room had a thousand different patterned tiles or type of flooring. Although the mismatched
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All I could process was my father’s packed car and the sound of slamming doors. Growing up with six older siblings, with the oldest being twenty years my senior, I didn’t see much of my parents nor felt particularly close to them. I felt as though my siblings were my parents and relied on them heavily even while they were juggling school, work, and then my parents’ situation. My parents or family have never been affluent but worked with what we had and contributed as best we could. Ever since I could talk and understand words and phrases I was told to be four things; be a good daughter, sister, student, and most of all a good catholic. Although during this time my parents never spoke much or agreed on many things both of them reiterated these four things to me. To a child undergoing through this unfortunate transition there wasn’t much to hold on to or contribute so I decided to do my best to fulfil these four things. So like the polished tiles on the floor of the living room I decided to maintain and polish my grades, attitude, and soul all while trying to understand what my family’s situation was.
After my father left the house of a thousand tiles, my mother decided to move into an apartment, that was less of an expense and easier to maintain. It was the house I had lost my first tooth, learned to swim, and was the place I loved and felt the safest. I felt my heart crack like a bowling ball falling on a porcelain tile. In my naïve little mind I comforted myself with the thought that if I continued to excel in school and everything else someday my family and I would return to the
All I could process was my father’s packed car and the sound of slamming doors. Growing up with six older siblings, with the oldest being twenty years my senior, I didn’t see much of my parents nor felt particularly close to them. I felt as though my siblings were my parents and relied on them heavily even while they were juggling school, work, and then my parents’ situation. My parents or family have never been affluent but worked with what we had and contributed as best we could. Ever since I could talk and understand words and phrases I was told to be four things; be a good daughter, sister, student, and most of all a good catholic. Although during this time my parents never spoke much or agreed on many things both of them reiterated these four things to me. To a child undergoing through this unfortunate transition there wasn’t much to hold on to or contribute so I decided to do my best to fulfil these four things. So like the polished tiles on the floor of the living room I decided to maintain and polish my grades, attitude, and soul all while trying to understand what my family’s situation was.
After my father left the house of a thousand tiles, my mother decided to move into an apartment, that was less of an expense and easier to maintain. It was the house I had lost my first tooth, learned to swim, and was the place I loved and felt the safest. I felt my heart crack like a bowling ball falling on a porcelain tile. In my naïve little mind I comforted myself with the thought that if I continued to excel in school and everything else someday my family and I would return to the