The House That Built Jia

I've lived in quite a few places in my life. The first home I remember is a place in West Valley, Utah where the neighbor kids tied me to a tree and danced around me with pitch forks. I wish I was joking. They left me outside for at least an hour and my Grandpa had to come rescue me once the sun had set and they realised their four year old was missing.

I lived in a two story house in Salt Lake City with my Grandparents, aunt Debbie and my older sister Tiffany until I was ten. Then we moved to California where Motherly took over. I can't actually picture our Cali house anymore to be completely honest. But I do remember the backyard. We had a large peach tree that we never actually ate from, but every year the fruit would fall on the ground and attract fruit flies by the millions so Kristine and I would have to go and pick them up. Worst chore ever.

I lived in a trailer in Aztec, New Mexico when we moved away from California. It was my transitional home where my cousin Mitzi taught me discipline by taking away all my belongings save a mattress and clothing when I brought home a D on my report card. I got straight A's from that point on.

But my home. My real home. The home I consider my childhood home I didn't even live in until I turned fourteen years old. But it was home nonetheless. And it stopped being home last summer when Motherly sold it and moved to Colorado.

I took a bunch of pictures the week that Motherly moved out and I meant to post them but at the time it was too emotional, and I'd since forgotten until MamaKat had a writing prompt this week to talk about the house that built you. So here it is, The House That Built Jia:

That front window is the bedroom where my Grandma stayed before she died. Then it became my room and eventually my sisters room. That was the window Matt would whisper to me through on early mornings when he'd pick me up to go to seminary.

The bedroom I shared with my little sister until Grandma died. A place that caught the first tears of heartache as they were soaked into the pillow on the top bunk during my freshman year of High School.

The room that would eventually become mine. My place of refuge that was once decorated with water color paintings I made in art class. The place I hid my diary and kept my ever growing pile of dirty laundry. The place Matt and I would cuddle when we watched movies late into the night.

The family room where we would sit around and watch Tv. The place I learned to fully appreciate professional wrestling. The place Matt gave me piggy backs when we'd ditch school to just hang out. This is also the room where I burned a hole in the carpet with a fish tank light because instead of cleaning the fish tank, I was on the phone talking to Matt.

The porch where Kristine would tan and I would burn.

The living room where Matt and I took our very first photo together, cuddled up on a recliner.

And the backyard where he kissed me for the first time at my fifteenth birthday party.

Thomas Wolfe said it best when he said, "You can't go home again," and that's because if I did it would be breaking and entering. Which is funny cause when I was a teenager I just wanted to get the hell out of that place.