Recently, I had a conversation with my friend about our last few months of high school. As we discussed the changes we would soon face and the last few months before graduation, she said something that resonated with me. She explained that she was having a hard time being in the present, knowing that soon her community would completely change. At that moment, I realized that what she said applied to me not only as a senior in high school, but also as a military child -- and t

I learned early that goodbye is a language spoken quietly in parking lots, in driveways full of cardboard boxes, in hallways where lockers close for the last time. Being a military kid means you grow up measuring life in school years and duty stations, friends who stay for two years, sometimes one, sometimes just long enough to learn their favorite song before they disappear on a new map. But this year feels different. Senior year sits heavy in my hands, like a suitcase that

“Where are you from?” It’s one of the most rudimentary, typical questions in the world, one that most people answer without having to think twice about it. However, as a military teen, it's never been that simple, because the truth is that I’m not really from anywhere.  Most people have a hometown, somewhere that they can claim as their own, a place where they and their family have lived for many years. But my answer has never been definite. Do I say where I was born? Where I

My sister likes to think of our childhood as nomadic, always packing up and moving from one place to another.  I remember the boxes in our garage or storage that remained there for years, only to be moved again. Now and then, the content of those boxes would change, yet their meaning remained the same -- an imminent reminder of the next time we’d have to move. When I was younger, I never paid much mind to those boxes, always playing and hanging out with those whom I called fr

This article was sent to us by Ellanora W., an 11th grader Marine Brat stationed in Utah. Do you have a story to share with your fellow military teens? Visit our guest contribution page to find out how you can submit to Bloom! Say goodbye Once again another goodbye Goodbye friends Goodbye house I used to call home Goodbye school I used to wander Goodbye barn that brought it all back Hello, a phrase I’m sick of hearing Hello to the new room Hello to the new school Hello to th

There is a proverb that states, "When one door closes, another opens." This may seem like a simple saying, but it has a much deeper meaning than many people imply.  Growing up, my parents always made sure I was being active and doing something with a team. I did soccer, dance, and gymnastics as a kid. I ended up not loving soccer and quit altogether. When I was about eight years old, my parents had me make my first big decision that I can remember. I had to choose between dan

I first stumbled across the word “hiraeth” on TikTok under a video titled “beautiful words that describe obscure emotions.” After skipping through the slideshow and periodically jotting down new vocabulary to cram into my AP Lang essays, one word caught my eye. “Hiraeth” is a Welsh word, and while it doesn’t have a direct English translation, it is commonly described as a certain complex type of homesickness, sometimes for a home that was brief or nonexistent, or even one tha

My first day of school in Germany, my skin still tan from the sun in Georgia. Dearest Germany, The first time I met you was July 4, 2018. I was jet-lagged and could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t even realize I met you at that moment; I was too tired. My memories of the first day together were captured through an out-of-focus camera lens at the airport, the drive to the hotel, and then sleeping -- all seen through a blur. As the days passed, though, I got to know a little

This article was sent to us by Loralie H., a 9th grader Army brat stationed in Oklahoma. Do you have a story to share with your fellow military teens? Visit our guest contribution  page to find out how you can submit to Bloom! I finally found it! My niche, my group, my clique, My team. This is my place  These are my people And just now when I’ve found it all We got orders… Three more months  Three more months in the place I love with my whole heart  I want to stay right here 

As a military teen, I’ve never been able to actually choose where I went next. While my family has always had a say in the place we move to, I could never absolutely choose where. The military could always say, “Nope - you’re going here.” I’m currently a senior in high school, and I’ve spent the last three years ignoring the very prevalent question of “where do I want to go to college?” I couldn’t figure out where I want to move. I suddenly have the ability to choose, and I c

This article was sent to us by McKenna P., a college freshman at the University of Providence in Great Falls, Montana. Do you have a story to share with your fellow military teens? Visit our guest contribution page to find out how you can submit to Bloom! McKenna with her dad and younger brother in 2013. I hate this. I hate being the new girl. Why did my dad have to join the military? I wish I could just live in one place. Nobody is going to like me. I always have to leave.

There’s a red sticker on my bedside table. Its edges are curled, the nine-digit number is fading. It’s one of hundreds slapped on our furniture by movers over the years. These stickers have followed me through seven moves and new schools. They've felt like an annoyance I tried to peel away. Now, the red sticker feels personal. It represents where I’ve been and who I hope to become. My earliest memory of the stickers was yellow ones in Texas (our second move). I spent hours pe

The shock of leaving, again Saying goodbye to my “not so close” friends, again Packing up my nicer clothes and beaten-up furniture, again...

“This already feels like home” you’re expected to say. After all, you have already moved many times. It already feels like home, as you...

When I was younger, I had no trouble calling my house a home. No matter how many times I moved, it always felt like home to me. However,...

From Hawaii to DC, and Pennsylvania to Texas, I'm no stranger to the "PCS Road Trip." With packing all the "essentials" - sleeping bags,...

They ask me where I’m from—real sweet, Like it’s a place I clearly know. But moving every year on repeat Means roots don’t get a chance...

I've lived in nine houses, attended nine schools, called four different states my home, and reoriented my internal clock off of three...

This article was sent to us by Natalie S., a ninth grader stationed in Texas. Do you have a story to share with your fellow military...

Scroll to see the creations! As a kid, my favorite part about moving was the boxes. With every move, I eagerly waited for the boxes to...