To most people, the act of packing your life into boxes seems monumental. Major. And most importantly, emotional. However, I couldn't feel any of these things as I packed all but 5 medium sized cardboard boxes with my most prized possessions. Well, that's a lie. I did feel something, but other than deja vu, I was completely void of any emotion.

I packed my things almost robotically, treating it as the mind numbing task that it was. The only thing I placed special attention on was the order I kept all my vinyls, CDs, and books, making sure they all stayed alphabetized and color coordinated. In a way, it was a bit therapeutic, similarly to how coloring is. The repetition of placing the objects in a specific order was thoughtless, and nothing feels better than having a clear mind.

This state of ease didn't last very long though, as the five boxes were packed quickly. That's what you get when you are not an object-attached kind of person- everything important can fit in a few boxes.

I folded the boxes neatly, and sealed them with clear tape, not without noting however that I needed to grow my music and book collections. I gave away more than three-fourths of both collections, keeping only my favorites to make the move easier. I couldn't help but regret this decision as I stood and stared at the five boxes.

Five boxes. My whole life can be held in five boxes. If I wasn't so far removed from the situation, it would have been depressing. Before the emotion could come creeping up at me, I was interrupted by my aunt.

"Bella, come down, it's time to go!" she yelled from downstairs.

I jumped a little, her voice a shocking contrast to the previous quiet. I piled three boxes on my arms, leaving the rest for the second round I would have to do.

Before, I even made it out of the bedroom door, my aunt came barging into the empty room with her usual smile on her face. She was like that, a smiley person. It wasn't those annoying, preppy smiles that you see cheerleaders wear as they spew fake enthusiasm. It was the type of smile that made you want to smile, it was comforting.

"You done?" She asked, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Yeah, Esme. I just need to carry two more boxes down after these ones and I will be finished."

"I'll help you with them, don't worry."

She picked up the boxes quickly and made her way down the stairs. I followed her suit, not even taking a second glance at the room that I resided in for only a year. It held no good memories. I was happy to see it gone.

It wasn't that I wouldn't miss LA, I loved the city. I grew up here. I mean not here, here. I actually grew up in Santa Monica, which is about a 20 minute drive from Esme's West LA townhouse. But still, I will ache for the city filled with beaches and sun and life. But I knew it was time to leave. Just as LA was filled with my happiest memories, it was also drowning with my worst.

I walked out of the town house and placed the boxes in the moving truck that would eventually meet us at our new home. Home. I doubt it would feel anything like that, but it was a nice concept to hold onto.

I walked to Esme's car with these positive thoughts in my head, hoping that they would give, well… hope. As I settled into my seat, preparing for the long drive ahead of me due to the predictable traffic, I felt Esme's eyes on me. I turned my head to look at her and was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

Esme wasn't a crier, she was the type of person to find the good in everything and stay positive. But that wasn't the case right now.

I stared at her face, studying it as I tried to figure out how to comfort her. Her hazel eyes were more prominent due to her irritated eyes, and her skin was as creamy pale as mine. Her heart face was framed perfectly by her long caramel hair and thick eyebrows. She looked so much like my mother when she was at Esme's age of 28. In other words, she was beautiful. But she was hurt.

So I did the only thing I was capable of. I held her hand and stared right into her eyes, leaning into her so she had no option but to look into my eyes.

In my softest voice possible, I whispered, " We are going to be fine, you will see. I am sure of it."

She looked at me for a few seconds, her eyes searching mine, probably trying to find any trace of a lie. When she couldn't find what she was looking for, she swallowed slowly while nodding her head in agreement. Removing her hand from mine, she wiped underneath her eyes and started the engine.

After a few seconds of letting the car warm up, she peeled out of our usual parking spot, and began driving to LAX with her usual hopeful smile on her lips.

I hope for her sake, that I was right. That we are going to be fine.