I’m originally from Manchester, England. I moved here five years ago with my Dad. You might think I would’ve been upset at leaving my home, but I admit I was a little excited. Dad made it sound like an adventure into the new and unknown. At first it was, but then it wasn’t. To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure why he wanted to do this in the first place. Now I’ve been here in White Pine Bay long enough to miss Manchester.

First of all, America is HUGE. People always said that, but until see it for yourself you just can’t grasp it. You could fit all of England into Oregon alone — and then there’s the rest of the 48 states. It’s big.

There’s also not many people here. Where I live now is tiny. Manchester is the third largest city in England. That’s like Chicago in America. So imagine moving from Chicago to a small town. That’s what I did.

So it’s an adjustment.

At first I was teased about my accent. Well, I was teased about a lot of things, my accent being the least offensive it seems. I consciously forced myself to lose it, wanting to fit in and everything. I think I’ve lost most of it now and sound like an American. At least I’m not teased about it anymore. Maybe I’m just not noticed anymore.

Stupid, cruel people exist everywhere. I had a couple close friends back in Manchester. Making friends hasn’t been as easy as I thought. I seem to be too weird for people. Or as I overheard some girl say, “quirky.” Isn’t that supposed to be a cool thing? Guess not. Where you’re from dictates who you are. We live above the shop my Dad owns, so that makes us poor or something. I guess if we lived in the rich section of town I’d be more friend-able.

I find myself feeling very different from everyone else. And that means I haven’t been too lucky finding new friends. At first it was lonely, but I got over it. I’m not going to be around long enough to let it get to me.