Home across the ocean

My home is the quiet heart of my life, where my family’s story crossed an entire ocean. When my family moved from China to a land of new words and customs, our house was just four walls and a roof. But my mom smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we can make this house feel like home too.” Outside, the world felt weird and strange. I fumbled over words and tried to understand new rules. But each evening, when the door clicked shut, a soft tenderness wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. Home became my safe corner, a place where I could breathe and just be. One Chinese New Year, our home sparkled with magic. The smell of hotpot curled through the rooms, decorations danced on every wall, and laughter bounced off the ceiling. My little sister’s giggles, my parents’ smiles, and the thrill of giving red envelopes made me realize that no matter where we were, as long as we had each other, we were home. There is a quiet magic in my home. It glows in the morning sunlight across the floor, in my parents’ footsteps, and in voices I’ve known forever. Even the tiniest details become memories I carry: the smell of my favorite meal sizzling, squeaky stairs, laughter spilling through rooms like sunlight. These things settle into my heart, weaving who I am. Now I know that home is a feeling, not a place. It is where hearts connect, where memories are stitched into the walls, and where love turns ordinary days into something golden. Across oceans, through new languages and streets, home is the warm hug that never lets me go. Thank you, Habitat for Humanity, for turning empty spaces into sanctuaries where hope is restored and hearts finally find rest.