I grew up in a neighborhood that many city kids can only dream of: a quiet street that was our adventure park: a street filled with kids whose parents had to drag us inside for dinner, most of the time long after the sun had retired for the night. Our street was also a zoo. There were cats, dogs, birds, fish, sheep, rabbits, horses, not to mention all the little things we caught and decided to keep as pets. But these farm animals weren't just farm animals. They were our friends. Everything was great. I loved my life and never wanted anything to change. Then a day arrived that would ruin everything. The day they said, "We're moving." Dad's job had been relocated, and I would soon be leaving everything I had ever known. I cried. "We are going to live near the beach," I kept hearing, but it was no comfort. I hated my parents for doing this to me,      for putting an end to the series of colorful adventures. I watched as removal trucks were filled with boxes my life had been shoved  into, but I knew that there was one thing that wouldn't fit into a box. My neighborhood and all the fun and adventure it contained. I forced myself to dislike our new life and insistently  referred to our old house as "home". I would give no one the satisfaction of enjoying our new beachfront lifestyle, not my family, my friends or myself. To admit taking pleasure in the new meant to let go off the old. But once I allowed myself to like the town, I grew to love it and I don't want anything to change. But this time, I know it will. And as scary as that may be, it's okay because exciting adventures can happen anywhere. All I have to do is to let them happen. The best title of the text could be  _  .
My beautiful memory Country life and city life My wonderful neighborhood Adventures could be everywhere