My Home

My name is Ella. I am ten years old, and I have moved two times. When I was born, my Mom and Dad lived in a downstairs apartment right next to a baby park that was perfect for me. When I turned two, we had to move out because it was too loud for me, my dad and my mom. We had just had our first Christmas together at the new house, and the day after Boxing Day, my little brother was born. Three years later, when I was five and my brother was two, we were sure that was our home. In October, my family found out the sad news that we had to move. Suddenly, months felt like weeks, weeks felt like minutes, and then time was up. My brother and I were in the car, looking back at our old home from the back window. That night, I didn't get a wink of sleep. Instead, I kept thinking about my old home. That morning, I slumped down onto my couch, still thinking and thinking until my mom had my breakfast and told me nothing would be different. Then I thought about it. My mom and dad would still make the same food, still do my hair and love me the same. But things were different in the neighbourhood I had called mine. The yard I had played in and made memories in wasn't here with me anymore. As the years passed, I learned to love my home. Five years later, I'm in my home and as happy as can be.