The meaning of home to me
What does home really mean to me? To me, home means not one, but many things. Most importantly, I believe that home means a secure, cheerful place where you are respected and loved. But what about the people without homes? Does it mean the same thing to them? Everybody deserves to know the true meaning of home. When I started writing this essay, I didn’t think much about the meaning of home. But now, I have found out that home means more. Much more.
Home means an enjoyable, happy place where you can live, laugh and learn. It’s somewhere where you are loved, respected, and cared for. When you look at it from the outside, home is just a house. A building. Maybe a yard. But on the inside, it’s a lot more than wood and bricks. The saying “Home is where the heart is” says it all.
Home is also where your memories lie. Home is where I got my head stuck under the couch. Home is where I fell in the goldfish pond. I remember sleeping in the playhouse, falling down the stairs and climbing up the apple tree. Without memories, most people wouldn’t be the people that they are today.
Just like memories, home is also where your hopes and dreams are. Dreaming about when you grow up. Being a spaceman or a firefighter. Sinking beneath the sea as a scuba diver. I couldn’t imagine living without dreams. My home grounds them, and without a home, I wouldn’t have any.
There are, however, people without homes, living on streets, and homeless shelters. Not much is very fair about some people living in huge, glorious, shining white mansions and others living huddled and wet, in small, sagging, cardboard boxes. Thanks for reading my story.