What My Home Means To Me

Home is not a building, it is a place in your heart where you know that you’ll always belong, no matter what. Home should be a place where you always feel safe, and like you belong. If you don’t feel safe and feel loved, then you know that you're not home. When I think of home, I think of warmth, cuddles, joy and laughter. I think of my family, and my fish, that are swimming quietly in their tank. But most importantly, when I think of home, I think of love. When I’m upset, in my home, my older sister and mom soothe my worries, give me words to live by, and they give me hugs after I cry a little bit, in my home. Home tastes like my mothers lasagna, my fathers signature fish and chips, and my older sister's cookies and cake. It sounds like my little sister when she’s asleep in my bed after a nightmare, snuffling and talking quietly to herself in her dream, like the calm after a storm. It smells like my mother and father cooking delicious meals, the delicate and beautiful aroma only just reaching me while I study on my desk in my room. Home feels like me in beds at night, my plush toy huddled close to me in my arms, sleep mask on my face, while I sink comfortably in my warm and cozy bed. Home looks like me and my family jumbled up together on a small sofa with snacks in our hands, watching shows. Homes can be big, homes can be small. But my home is just enough. Thank you Habitat for Humanity for making houses that people can create into homes with lots of shared memories and love, because everybody deserves a place to call home, no matter who they are, or where they come from.