The Place I Call Home
Home is a place of security, affection, and compassion to me. It’s like a tight-knit community that you can rely on, similar to a secure shelter. There are accommodations to imagine in, rooms to eat in, and a bed familiar to you. Yet those are merely the tangible aspects of a home. The phrase “I feel right at home” implies that you appear comfortable and protected. That’s what I consider home should be like.
To begin with, the dependable location to go to in times of peril is my house. It delivers off an aura of warmth and ease and is the most excellent spot to be in these circumstances. A Canadian winter brews outside my windowpane. I warm up in the heat controlled rooms. Think about all the people who can’t. For every second I spend in the place I call home, I should count my infinite blessings.
Home is safety, safety is home. My house is an escape and a shield from all danger. I am fed healthy food and hydrated with water. Parents with open arms and encouraging sisters and brothers lead me throughout the way. Uncles and aunts who beam from ear to ear make my day.
Where did you have your first memory? My first recollection took residence at my earliest dwelling. It was when I got to meet my grandparents. I had felt the happiness of them coming to visit me. Building memories come from such a place.
All in all, home is full of security, protection, and memories. It’s my personal sanctuary, and I would love if someone else received the same opportunity as I have. There’s no place I’d rather be then HOME, SWEET HOME.