The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting soft golden light across Lala’s bedroom. She sat quietly on her bed, clutching her favorite stuffed bear, as the familiar sounds of her home drifted through the air—the creak of the wooden floor when Dad walked past, the rustle of Mom packing boxes in the kitchen, the chirping of the birds outside her window. Everything felt the same, yet everything was about to change.
Today was moving day.
Lala’s family had decided to move to a new place, one closer to Dad’s workplace and Mom’s parents. The new house was bigger, brighter, and came with a small garden, something her parents were excited about. But for Lala, the thought of leaving her old house filled her with a sadness she couldn’t shake.
She looked around her room—the walls with tiny pencil marks where her height had been measured each year, the closet door covered with stickers she had collected since kindergarten, and the window where she used to press her nose against the glass to watch the rain. These weren’t just things. They were memories.
“Lala, sweetheart, are you ready?” Mom’s gentle voice called from the hallway.
Lala hesitated. She hugged her stuffed bear tighter and whispered, “I don’t want to go.”
She dragged herself off the bed and slowly walked through the house, touching the walls, doors, and even the corners of the living room as if trying to imprint them in her mind forever. Each room told a story.
In the kitchen, she remembered baking cookies with Mom, spilling flour everywhere until they both laughed so hard they forgot about the mess. In the living room, she remembered last Christmas, when the family had gathered around the tree, opening gifts and sipping hot chocolate. In the backyard, she remembered chasing butterflies and playing hide-and-seek with her cousins.
Everywhere she looked, memories flooded back.
“Why do we have to leave?” Lala asked softly when Dad came in, carrying another box.
Dad crouched down, smiling but also sensing her sadness. “Sometimes we have to let go of old places to start new adventures. The new house will give us more room, and you’ll have a bigger bedroom. You’ll even get to plant flowers in the garden.”
“But what about this house?” Lala whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “It feels like it’s mine. Like it’s part of me.”
Dad hugged her tightly. “This house will always be part of you. The memories we made here don’t disappear just because we’re leaving. They live in our hearts, wherever we go.”
Still, it was hard for Lala to believe that.
By noon, the moving truck arrived, and the house became busier than ever. Movers carried boxes, Mom directed where things should go, and Dad kept checking the list. Lala felt like an outsider, clutching her bear and standing in the middle of the whirlwind.
Before long, the rooms were empty. The furniture was gone, the shelves bare, and the walls looked strangely blank without family photos and decorations. The house felt different—less alive, almost echoing with silence.
Lala wandered back into her room, now empty except for a few forgotten crayons in the corner. She sat on the floor, looking at the faint pencil marks that measured her growing height year after year. With her tiny finger, she traced the last one, labeled “9 years old.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Goodbye,” she whispered to the walls, “thank you for keeping me safe.”
When it was finally time to leave, Mom took Lala’s hand gently. “Do you want to say one last goodbye to the house?”
Lala nodded. She walked slowly through each room, whispering her thanks.
“Goodbye, kitchen… thank you for the cookies and hot chocolate.”
“Goodbye, living room… thank you for Christmas and movie nights.”
“Goodbye, backyard… thank you for the butterflies and laughter.”
Finally, she stood at the front door. The house loomed behind her, still and silent, but in her heart it felt alive with memories. She pressed her palm against the door and whispered, “Goodbye, my old house. I’ll miss you.”
The family got into the car, and as it drove away, Lala pressed her face against the window, watching her old house grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight. She felt a lump in her throat, but she didn’t cry this time.
When they reached the new house, everything felt strange and unfamiliar. The walls were freshly painted, the rooms smelled of new wood, and the garden looked plain without flowers. Lala wandered through it slowly, comparing it to the old house. It didn’t feel like home—not yet.
That night, Lala lay in her new bedroom, the boxes still unopened around her. She hugged her stuffed bear and whispered, “I don’t like it here. I want to go back.”
But then she remembered Dad’s words: The memories live in our hearts. She closed her eyes and thought of all the happy moments in her old house—the laughter, the warmth, the love. Those weren’t gone. They were still with her.
In the days that followed, little by little, the new house began to change. Mom hung the family photos on the walls, Dad planted flowers in the garden, and Lala decorated her new room with the same stickers she had carefully peeled off her old closet. She even started a new growth chart on her new bedroom wall.
One evening, as the family sat in the living room, eating popcorn and watching a movie, Lala looked around. For the first time, the new house didn’t feel so strange. It felt warm. It felt safe.
It felt like home.
She still missed her old house, and sometimes she thought about it with a heavy heart. But she realized something important: it wasn’t the walls or the rooms that made a home—it was the love and laughter inside them. And as long as she had her family with her, she could build new memories anywhere.
That night, before going to sleep, she whispered to her bear, “Goodbye old house… hello new home.”
And with a small, hopeful smile, Lala drifted off to sleep, ready for the adventures ahead.
