The most special place

To me, home isn’t a place—it’s a feeling, as comforting as falling asleep beside my fluffy dog at night. After a long day at school, home is where my family and I laugh and have conversations together over dinner, enjoying my mom’s delicious Japanese dishes or my dad’s Lithuanian potato meals covered in sour cream. After we finish eating, we often gather around the table to play board games like Catan or Carcassonne. Those moments, filled with competition, laughter, and playful arguments, are some of my favorite memories. Of course, I love having a blast with my sister, including the “sister moments” that my parents have to interfere with. My baby brother was born last year, and I can't wait to make more wonderful memories with him. My home isn’t just made of walls, windows, and furniture. It’s built from all the happy, funny, sad, or even ordinary memories my family and I have created together. It’s where I feel relaxed and safe. Even when I feel a little negative sometimes, I know it’s okay—because my family still loves me no matter what. Home is where I can truly be myself and feel confident about who I am. It’s where I feel special and know that I belong. It’s where my family compliments me after a good figure skating session and celebrates my achievements with me. I’ve realized that home can exist anywhere, as long as my family is there. Last summer, I went to Japan to visit my grandparents all by myself. Even though my parents weren’t with me and everything felt unfamiliar at first, Japan still felt like home. It felt like home because I felt special. It felt like home because I was making new memories. And most importantly, it felt like home because I felt loved.