Beautifully messy

Many people think home is just a building, a roof with four walls to hold it together. However for me, home is a place where memories are born. The scent of the candle my mom lights. The sound of my family laughing in the kitchen, and the warmth of the blazing fireplace, these are the things that make my home itself. It is a collection of small everyday moments that make a boring home into a building of love. I call home a museum, because it holds all my great memories. Every room has a story, from the marks on the wall to the scratches on the floor. This is the place I grew taller, the place I became me. The place where I learned the difference between right and wrong.These walls have seen a lot, either my greatest smiles, or my quietest struggles. Acting as a canvas that represents who I am. Home is a place of belonging. It is a place where I can express all of my greatest ideas. A place where people won’t judge me. Home is a place I can be myself. I used to think home was a castle, where my parents would pretend to be knights that protected me, or my home was the deep blue sea where I’d save my parents from a “shark” attack. I would let my imagination take over. home is real, home is reality. Now I like to cherish every moment I spend in my home. In the end, home isn’t a place you find on a map, it is a place you find in your heart. Thank you, Habitat for Humanity, for building not just homes, but futures and hope for families all across the country.