Home is Not Just a Building

There was a time when I had a different home, a place where I felt safe, a home that I never wanted to leave. Then one day, it hit like a freight train, I was going to move away from the place I called home, my safe space. I was scared at first, not wanting to leave all the memories I made. This new house was just an empty shell in the beginning, a building with walls and a roof. But as the days passed, what was at first all-black and white exploded with colour and memories. This house had become my home. Now, in the present, I continue to make memories that colour my world. On weekends, I bake with my mom. We make brownies, cake, and my favourite of all time, tiramisu. When he’s free, my older brother plays video games with me, and we get in fights about who is the better player. My dad paints with me in the basement, and we play badminton together when there's time. At dinner time, the delicious smell coming from the kitchen brings everyone together to the table and we eat my parents' homemade food. Traditional Bengali dishes with beef or chicken and rice spread out on the table, and payesh is one of my favourite desserts. I used to think that home was just a building, something that couldn't be moved. I used to think a house could be a home even when lifeless with zero colours, not even blue and grey. Now, I know what a true home is. It's where my family is and where I feel loved. Thank you, Habitat for Humanity, for letting people that may not have a home finally get one. May those homes stay in their lives as a place of comfort and love forever.