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fe in India, it dawned on me that I ought to make the best of the situation. I sought to help my relatives where I could, and they appreciated the effort. [Insert here how you helped your relatives. Be a little more specific with an additional phrase or sentence.]
Throughout our transition there were daily telephone calls with my dad to keep us abreast of all the happenings back in the United States, especially regarding the sale of our house. The rattling of the fan, the music of the mosquitoes, and the evenings’ powerful thunderstorms became vividly etched in my memory. Through it all, I remember my mom's soothing tone as she urged me not to pine for home, but to strive to learn from the experience, no matter how difficult it might seem. Her voice is clear in my mind and my heart: "It will teach you to appreciate all of life, its culture, people and landscapes. It will make you a more mature person, and you will never regret the effort that you make."
Pacing a muddy road a few weeks later, in a steady rain and a cold wind, I saw my father for the first time in months. He looked up from the cart he was pushing and waved toward me. The smile on his face made me realize that I would do anything for my dad, for he would only do what was in my best interest. We embraced, and hurried inside my grandma’s house.
Finally, it hit me that our house had been sold; our possessions were in storage, and 10,000 miles from my homeland, our family was finally reunited.
Our newfound equilibrium was soon struck a disheartening blow. Telephone calls between India, New York, and London became more frequent and more prolonged. Because of corporate concerns, my father learned that he would soon be sent to London. The family was visibly discouraged that we would have to uproot yet again. Mom put up a brave front and said, “We shall go anywhere; it will be a new experience for us." Privately, my eyes began to twinkle, for I felt that London would be easier to live in than India. There was hugging, crying, paying salutations to the elders, and once again the familiar sound of clicking seat belts and the sight of puffy white clouds.
When we touched down at Heathrow, the gray skies and cool breeze felt like home to me. Gone were the sticky, dusty roads of India, replaced by a refreshing chill and the orderly hum of traffic. A pair of neatly pressed gray slacks, a striped burgundy shirt and highly polished burgundy-colored shoes took me to the American School in the heart of London. I registered for the fall, and decided that the family ought to hit the town. I felt like a tour guide dragging my family to Buckingham Palace, where we were unable to catch a glimpse of the Queen over the sea of people. We watched as a precision marching band played and marched in beautiful formation for the assembled crowd. That day, we saw the deep waters of the Thames River, the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, Big Ben and Hyde Park. Soon paperwork was exchanged, passports, visas, and formalities taken care of. In a few weeks I would begin school in London. I was confident that I could make a decent life for myself here. After the heartache of India, it seemed that things were finally working out.
All of that soon changed. My father’s company told him that due to structural changes in the company, he would have to
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