A Memorable Day

Kike Lawal

I knew about it before it was to happen. I just never thought it would have a big impact on my life. Moving countries is not a big thing. Being six it did not seem like a great thing. I was going to see my dad and that was all that really mattered and the point that I would not be coming back for a while, maybe even years, did not even enter my six year old mind. As I was six, nothing but the excitement of moving bothered me: not the packing, which I did not take part in, nor the trouble of selling the house in time for the move, nor the secret tears that our friends and family shed. When the day came to move it began to creep into my mind that perhaps moving was not all I thought it would be. Tears started openly slipping down the cheeks of my family; people became slower doing things, locking the suitcases, putting them in the car, saying goodbyes. This to me, at the time, was not how I dreamed of the day. Where were the happy faces, the cheerful rush that had gone on months before? Silence had taken over. Stares were fixed on me as if they were trying to remember every detail of my face. My happy mood, already dropped, began to fizzle out The conversations I heard were not of 'have a good time'; see you later, but were of 'don't forget me' and 'don't cry'. It then began to dawn on me that there was an unhappy side to moving away. The questions I never thought of asking came into my head but when let out, the only answer I got was 'I don't know' and 'not in a while'. 'We were not going forever', I said over and over again to anyone I saw crying, but all I got was a small lift of the lips that should not be called a smile and the sound of my bones cracking as I was crushed in a hug.

Moving then became a bad thing that I did not want to happen, but whenever I thought this my next thought was 'what about dad?' My mum, at the time, said that sacrifices had to be made everyday and that this one was ours. I asked why everyone could not just come and then no sacrifices would have to be made, no one would be left behind and everyone would be happy again. I was on a high after my brilliant idea, but all crumbled when my mum replied that it had to be this way. At the airport, getting on our flight was the hardest part as before I could imagine that we were not really moving, but at the airport I knew for all the wishes I made, I was still leaving. Saying goodbye then, was even for a six year old, maybe because I was a six year old, one of the hardest things I have ever done. Saying goodbye to family you have always been around is not what you dream of doing everyday or even ever in your life.

We had three cars trailing behind ours filled with family who wanted one more chance to say goodbye. Tears were pouring down my face, darkening the colour of my t-shirt. My family were lined up waving; some even having the courage to smile despite the obvious sadness in their eyes. We were the last ones to board the plane, even when it was inevitable; prolonging the time we had together. That day was one I will never forget maybe because I was young and it was my first experience of parting. Maybe it was even for other reasons I fail to remember, but it would still be both the most exciting and heartbreaking times of my life and will, I know, be remembered for all the years to come.