Shields and Qorma

When I think of home, I think of family. Smelling my Grandma’s Qorma. Feeling the excitement erupt when we play board games, as a family. Hearing my little sisters playing with their toys. My baby sister laughing, watching my sisters run around and just being…themselves. Home is where I too can be myself, where my mom knows I'm hungry before I squeak a word. It’s where Mom teaches me how to cook. Where Dad helps me with my math homework. After school, I enter my home exhausted, and hear the click of the lock— the outside world can’t get to me anymore. I feel my shoulders lighten. My house lifts the weight of my heavy backpack while I sink into the couch. Before I know it, I’m asleep— and my breathing slows down, as I let everything float away, and I take a break from the world — I’m safe, in my home. When I wake up, Mom gives me a plate with freshly made Qorma, and I smile as I take a bite out of that tender chicken and inhale the fresh scent. My home— my family— all I need. They know me best. My home is the place where the roof is the shield to the howling winds. Where the furnace keeps me alive while everything outside is frozen. The air-conditioning is a cool breeze caught in a box, while the world outside is melting. A home built by caring hands I never met. Where they could hear the ring of the hammer striking against the nails, holding the shields that would preserve memories and dreams never to forget. Home is not just a building, it is a feeling of warmth, refuge, and belonging.