Meaning of Home

As I walked to the door of a small hotel a wave of emotion towered over me. “This isn't home,” I whisper, “I just know.” We get the room key and unlock the door. It creaks open and my family walks in. Me, my brother, and my mom. We walked into the room. There is tacky yellow wallpaper and in the corner of the room is one little couch covered in brown leather with two blue throw pillows, there is only one window on the back wall. I look at my mom, she is tired and always has a soft smile on her face. She knows what I am thinking. “It is small,” she says, “but all I can afford.” I nod. “Well, time to go to bed,” mom says with a yawn. She closed the creaky door and walked to the couch. Guess what? It was a pullout couch. She flipped and turned and spun all around. In no time we had a bed to sleep in. We all climbed in and drifted off to dreamland. I woke up to my mom shaking me. The bed was dirty and had a smell that made me feel scared, but I hadn't slept in a while, so it was pretty comfy. “I have good news!" mom said, “A company has reached out to us and said they are building a house for us to live in! Best of all it's free!” “When do we go?!” I ask. “Next week,” she says. With that, a week flies by. We are no longer worried about the family, we were excited about it. The day finally came and let me tell you, the house was amazing. There were three bedrooms and one living room the whole house was warm and had a welcoming smell to it. My whole life I dreamed about what it would be like to have a home. But a home is not just a building, it’s a place with family and friends, a place that feels welcoming, a place that feels safe. That’s what I learned when I was homeless.