What Is My Home?

I used to wonder, what is my home? As a kid, I moved around a lot. My first memories were in Toronto. I don’t remember much, just small pieces of my childhood. When I was eight, we moved into an apartment and stayed there for one year. Then we moved again this time to London, Ontario. When we arrived in London, I really believed, This is it. This is my home. I made amazing friends. I joined sports teams. I felt like I belonged. London became my safe place. I thought we would stay there forever. But last year, my parents told me we were moving back to Toronto. My heart felt heavy. My friends cried. I cried too. I didn’t want to leave the place where I felt safe and loved. I didn’t want to start over again. When we moved back to Toronto, everything felt different. The city was loud. The traffic was busy. The schools felt bigger and harder. At first, I didn’t like it. I missed London. I missed my friends. I missed the memories we had made. In London, we lived there for two years. I remembered my mom cooking in the kitchen, the smell of food filling the house. I remembered laughing with my family in the living room. But slowly, I started to notice something. Even though the city was different, the most important things were still the same. My mom was still cooking in the kitchen. My family was still laughing together. We were still there for each other. That’s when I realized something important. Home isn’t about how big your house is. It isn’t about fancy furniture or perfect walls. It isn’t about the city you live in. Home is where you feel safe. Home is where you are loved. Home is where your family is. And no matter how many times I move, I now understand one thing. Home isn’t just a building. By Julia