Home is my heart

Home for me, is my family having movie nights and watching fun things that make us laugh. The taste of buttery popcorn that’s just come out of the microwave. The sound of my dog trying to climb onto the blanket with us. Home is also my family. My aunt and uncle’s house, where my cousins and I have sleepovers and eat chips and make crafts. My grandparent’s houses, where I make homemade toffee and decorate for celebrations, and where I draw and help set the table for a delicious supper. Home is where I can be myself. No one judges me or who I am, and I can express my feelings, whether good or bad. I can draw, or paint, or write, or read. I can learn by myself or with my sister and parents. I can develop all sorts of skills. I can listen to my Dad when he talks about history, and other interesting things. I can watch my Mom sticker her class’s schoolwork, and write endless report cards. And I can sit and listen while my sister talks about her friends. Home is the feeling of my soft covers on my cozy mattress as I drift in and out of peaceful dreams. I stare at the deep, calm darkness, and listen to cars go by outside. I think of what I’ll do tomorrow, or the next book I’ll try to write. Home is my country. The rich history and culture, the dances and celebrations, the sweet and sticky taste of pure maple syrup dripping off my fluffy pancakes, and the thought that I’m safe. Home is my friends, schoolmates and teacher. Learning important skills, and playing with friends outside. Home is love. Home is trust. Home is forgiveness. Home is home. By Ciel