Home-Where Journeys are Made
When I was born, a new journey began. At home is where my journey was made, with love, family, warmth and food. My bed, my room, my clothes and my pillow. I can wake up to a new day, in a safe, happy place. I can live in my home in enjoyment and peace. A home to me is where journeys are made.
While I don’t remember the day I came home, I know it was special, for it was where I’d grow up. I still live in that same house. On a farm, on a road, by the woods. My house is not just my home, though. These forests and vineyards, these roads and ponds. They’re where I grew up, where I journeyed. I had friends over. We ate, we played, we had journeys. Eventually these journeys became a journey. A journey we made together, at home.
At home, I can take some time for myself, to rest, to think, to care and notice. I have a kitchen where my mom and dad cook the food to give me three full meals. Upstairs is my room, a space for myself. A place to rest for the night. To dream. Where my clothes are, to protect, to warm and to cover my body. My living room. The place to live. Living is a journey, the journey we all have. Interacting with family, watching television, bumping your head while jamming to your favourite songs. Finding out news, good and bad. It’s a place I love. My house is great, I can live my journey in it.
I love my home, with all it has given. A place to learn, explore and love. My home is a place I love deeply. To me, a home is where I have made my journey.