What home means to me

The smell of my home is always watering my mouth. When my mom cooks tasty food, especially when she cooks egg curry. Whenever she comes home, I want to make her something special to eat, something that she knows when she comes straight in the house. It smells like roses in my bedroom, roses as fresh as they could be. The taste of my home is the most delicious food in the whole world to me. I am always first on the dining table whenever my mom cooks egg curry, dumplings, and Maggi. Sometimes I cook Maggi. The sound of my home is like a melody when my mom sings. I love playing with my ukulele all the time over the weekend. The songs I always hear are Touch, Debut, Cupid, Golden, and many more. I hear things like “I love you”, “you did a great job,” from my parents. The music I hear makes me dance sometimes. The touch of my home feels like the soft blanket I use to sleep every night. My giant stuffed pickachoo feels like a bear that would hug me till I go to sleep in my bed. My bedroom door stays slightly open, just enough for light to spill in. Here I lay down to sleep with my stuffed pickachoo named Fluffy. The love of my home comes from my family. It feels warm when my family sleeps together in one room. When my dad brings my brother and me a prize for getting good grades. Me and my brother and I look at the sunset, and I look at the sunrise as my brother is still asleep. also when me and my dad siting on the roof of our home, counting stars in the night sky. This is what my home means to me.