Where my story begins

When I walked into my house for the very first time. I knew it wasn’t a hotel or a temporary place. It is a home. My home. My home had no heart or people inside until I walked in with my family. Its heart started pumping and the heart grew with my family too. Our home had electricity, with hot running water too, but that's not all we needed. We needed to make memories, traditions and celebrations in our home. We needed each other. We needed arguments and makeups, forgiveness and thankfulness. Homes have a heart and homes can get hurt, with dents, scratches and holes in the walls. Those things can be repaired, and so will fights. There is a basement, a middle floor, a top floor and an attic, but that doesn't matter. What matters is we have a home together. Everyone deserves a home, too. Home isn't a place - it's a feeling. Home is not just where you sleep, eat and live it is where your story begins. Home is where you're born, where you're raised, where you learn to walk, talk, feel, breathe. You grow up in a home.