Masks

The problem with moving is that I haven't spent more than four years in any one place. Unless, you count from birth to the age of six, but all my memories from that time seem to be traumatic experiences. Not to say that I had unhappy childhood, it just seems the stronger more vivid memories are of getting lost at a circus, getting electrocuted by a lamp, being pushing down the stairs. But these memories aren't what I want to talk about. Around this age my parents had traveling jobs and I was sent to live with my grandparents. They were loving and caring but still no substitute for the company of my parents.
At six years old I was packed up and sent to lie in America this time with my mom and uncle who were in college in New Orleans. Both of them had busy schedules and I was for the most part left on my own to get into my own little brand of trouble. I had friends and I was good at making them. Out of necessity I think I learned to adapt to my enviornment. I spent 3 years in public school before my parents decided to send me to a private french school again uprooting me from my hard won friends. Half way through that year we moved all the way north to CT.
At this point I was around the age of 11. I had no friends, at least none with whom I could hope to keep in touch and I was living with parents I barely knew from cultures I could barely recognize as familiar. I remember feeling like I was outside looking through a dirty window at a family I wish I could be apart of, while knowing I couldn't ever really hope to fit in. I think the difference was I was still hoping and trying to conform to that family I saw. Trying too hard to be someone I wasn't. Trying to adapt.