The backyard of my abuelo’s house has always been my favorite place. I have memories of green covering my vision as I rolled down the hill that made up most of my grandparents’ backyard. When the summer sun would beat down on us in an ungodly manner, the old willow tree abuelito had planted would serve as a safe haven from the ruthlessness of the heat.

As abuelita watered her plants, talking to each with the tenderness a mother has for her child, my primos and I would be in a world or wonder. Whether it was riding our bikes until we were dripping in sweat, playing with our abuelos’ dogs, spending our time in the cooling sprinkler water or even staring at the sky trying to convince each other the clouds were giant marshmallows, I could always count on the laughter radiating from my cousins to fill my ears.

Having grown up living three houses down from my primos and abuelitos, I can’t remember a time when we weren’t spending a summer, or any season, together. From fort building competitions to Dance Dance Revolution matches, I always had my family right by my side.

That was the first thing that popped into my head the day I got accepted into college. My family has always been there. Every memory I have that matters includes them. I live three houses down from them. I go to school with them. Next year that is all going to change. While the thought of not having my primos there with me every day scares me, the excitement I feel at the chance to pursue higher education outweighs that. So while it may be scary to leave my family and go to a place that’s unfamiliar, I am trying new things.