My Home Is Not Just An Apartment

My home is in a city called Kyiv. To me, my home is not just a big house with a huge roof and lots of walls, it is a place where me and my family spend time together and my parents are by my shoulder. Home is where we are protected from the rain and wind. My home is where I can live and survive with my family. My home means a lot to me, even when the loud air siren is on, it doesn't matter day or night, we hide in the corner of the hallway near our destroyed shoes. I remember when we just moved in, my house was fully empty with nothing in it, just the kitchen and the white walls. Then, we heard a blasting KNOCK. When we opened the door, we smelt the tasteful apple pie from my grandma and we saw both of my grandpas with a lot of construction materials. We immediately introduced them to our home and we got straight to work. My grandparents and my parents were mostly working on the two beds while my brother and I tried to have some fun. During that time I mostly felt a lot of joy in my body because we were together as a family. Some time later, me and my parents and my brother were going on a trip to a city away from my sacred home. We were there for a couple of days, but when we were there we heard a roaring... BOOM! We were so frightened that we ran to the TV and opened the news, and what we saw a war. After that boom from the first rocket that landed near us, we decided to move to a safer place away from my special home. We found this new small apartment that did not look anything like my actual home. The only problem was that one day, my dad got sent to war. After a while, we went back to my home city. Around a few months later we went to Canada without my dad because it was getting really unsafe and he was forced to stay in Kyiv. For example, once we were heading to school there were so many rockets that we had to go to an underground shelter because it was the safest place near school and we sat there for six hours before the air siren turned off. I felt tears in my eyes because I was going away from my dad and my beautiful home. When we were leaving to Canada it took us a long time on the bus because we had to drive to Poland where the airports were open. I was really sad about what was happening, and all of the airports were closed due to the war. When we came to the Warsaw Chopin International Airport and after a few hours, the plane took off and it was an eight and a half hour flight to Toronto, Ontario, Canada. When we got off the plane, I suddenly felt really sad that I was away from my really sweet dad and my best home ever. In my home I felt very happy and like I actually belonged there, because I am with my mom, dad, and brother. I still feel like sometimes I don’t feel like I am included enough. This new apartment is really small too. I am grateful that we have so much stuff in our apartment, thanks to my mom’s hard work where she works as a job every single day - The Toronto International Airport. I am also very thankful that I had it and I still have a very good home in my home country. Home is more than fun times and cool memories. My home is also the country that is half buried in flames, filled with ruined homes and families. It is also a country filled with joy and powerful long lasting traditions.