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Word Count: 681
I was eight years old when my mom told me we were moving to America I did not understand why we were leaving our family behind the people who had loved and supported us my cousin who taught me how to play baseball my uncle who never failed to show up at my gymnastics competitions and my grandparents who cooked my favorite meal every Sunday On the Tuesday that we left it was raining I could not help but think how appropriate the weather was for this occasion I had never felt such sorrow my whole life My mom told me the hardest part would be saying goodbye she was not wrong about that I felt my eyes tear up as my family lined up to give me a hug by the time I got to the last person I was hysterically crying The thought of never seeing my family again was unbearable in my mind leaving meant never coming back The first stop in our journey was Chile a cold and gloomy city The buildings were tall the streets were full of taxis and there were stairs on the sidewalk leading to a subway I had never seen anything like it before I felt out of place and immediately homesick The first two weeks I spent in a deep depression crying became part of my daily routine My mom would hold me and tell it was for the best I did not understand how leaving our family could be for the best but I trusted my mom and I knew watching me cry broke her heart so I decided to stop My mom had always been strong for me now it was my turn to be strong for her After two dragged out months it was time to pack up and leave once again our next stop was Mexico My mom and I arrived at the airport hand in hand eyes blood shot red
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