There’s no Comfort Like Home

I walk home along my sluggish steps, my stinging, chapped lips from biting too much while my head hangs low. The sky is unexpectedly rainy, each drop hitting my hoodie like pressure slowly crumbling on me while my brain goes rapid with thoughts about today’s presentation. ​ At last, my feet reach home as I take a deep breath, my knees almost buckling at the sight of my house—but no, it’s not just a house, nor a shelter, it’s the place where my heart calls without realizing it. I’ve seen this house a million times before, yet why does it still feel so relieving? ​ When I step inside, the fragrant smell of marinated chicken in the oven hits me instantly, and my taste buds start melting. I can’t help but feel comforted, enveloped by it, closing my eyes and taking in the aroma, visualizing today's dinner. I sit down on the dining chair I always claim before anyone else, as family members gather around, filling the awkward air with laughter instead of eating. Their humour shines through the entire house, they could even apply to become a stand-up comedian. Once again, I look to my side, where the living room is. There, my dad and brother are playing a game of chess while they rant about hardships in life, computer science, and my siblings’ futures. Seeing them connect like that, my heart softens while a faint smile blossoms across my lips. But then I realize, my home is where I belong, where my voice is heard without having to yell out. A haven filled with the sounds of laughter and deep, penetrating love. Except when I take one quick glance at my family's faces, all the stress washes away, replaced with a warm spirit.