Finding Home

I guess most adults think that if there’s ever a problem, you should go talk to them before you do anything else. But the truth is, I’ve never had a trusted adult that I could share all my problems with. My parents divorced when I was really little, and I don’t think any of my teachers really like me because of my horrible grades. Sure, I have friends, but what good are they when all they want to talk about is lipstick and TikTok? The only teacher who I think sort of likes me is my librarian. I like books - they help me escape from my everyday life through stories that could change my view on the world. But sadly, they don’t. One day, she enthusiastically recommended a thick book to me. “I’m sure you’ll like this one,” she said with a wink. The cover was bursting with bright colours and large text. Another story, I thought. What could be so great about this one? But suddenly, a word in the title caught my eye: Home. My dad picks me up every single day after school. Like I said, my parents are divorced - and wrapped up in their own lives too much to even remember they have a child. “Hey kiddo,” he said gruffly. “Hop in the car and we’ll go home.” Home?? I would hardly think of my dad’s house as home. The word reminded me of the book the librarian recommended. With a heavy sigh, I stepped into the car. Then I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my book. The pages of the book felt heavy under my fingers. I took a deep breath, and started reading. I was officially hooked. The book had drawn me into its story, and the author had written so well, I felt like I physically couldn’t put it down. I’d do my homework later. It… sort of felt like the book had a stronger connection with me than my parents, or my friends. I finished the book in two days flat. At the end of the story, the main character returns back home to their family, their friends and lives their “happily ever after.” But where would I go? I had no one to go to. I felt a wave of sadness and guilt wash over me as I shut the book. But I also felt a twinge of happiness. It felt like a part of me had been found, along with the book. And with the book finished, I felt like escape had been finished too. I never really knew I liked the outdoors. But something inside me clicked, like a missing piece that was in plain sight, I just couldn’t find it. It almost felt like the book was making me do things outside of my comfort zone, revealing the big picture. The picture of myself. “Dad,” I called. “I’m taking a walk.” No reply. I threw on my sweater and stepped outside. I glanced at the nearby forest and started to walk towards it. As soon as I was inside, I was faced with two different paths. Left or right?? “You should go right,” a voice behind me said. I turned around. A person who looked about my age smiled. “I’m Lola. And you should go right. The view is so much better.” I smiled back. “Nice to meet you. Do you come here often?” Lola gazed downward. “Uh..yeah, I guess I come here more than I should. You know, because of my..” Lola stopped. “Nevermind.” After a few minutes of walking and talking with Lola, I felt more like myself than I ever had been. Finally, someone who could listen about who I was. I felt closer to Lola than anyone I had ever met before. “Hey, um, can I tell you something..?” I nervously asked. “No problem!” Lola replied. I sighed. With shaky breaths, I explained my story to her. Lola turned out to be a very good listener. At the end, Lola said two words that startled me: “I know.” You KNOW? The words seemed unknown - no one had ever understood me before. “W-what do you mean, you know?” I asked. Lola stopped. “Look, my parents don’t really understand me. They aren’t divorced,..but I’d rather spend time with my friends than hear them argue all the time.” Lola looked at me with a vast expression on her face. “You probably don’t want to hear my sob story, do you?” I smiled. “I understand you. And, I don’t mind.” For the next two weeks, we met frequently inside the forest. My mom lived in another city, so I would always be in my dad’s house, near the forest. With our similarities and interests, Lola felt more like my sibling than a friend. And the forest was our home. Home. I caught myself saying the word inside my head. I still don’t know the real meaning of the word. But with someone who understands me, in a place that feels so special, I felt like I had a special connection with the forest. I felt..more like the real me. TWO WEEKS LATER… “Bye, Dad!” I called. “Goodbye, honey. Have a great day!!” I finally told my dad my situation and he finally seemed to notice. Now, he’s warming up towards me as the dad he never was. As I walked to school, my shoulders drooped from the heavy weight of three finished books. The librarian was very happy when I finished the book about home. “Like it?” “I LOVED it. Can I check out more?”I had asked. “Of course. Go right ahead.” Suddenly, I snapped back to reality. “Hey doofus!” A voice rang out from behind me. “Alexia, come on. Where’s Dan?” I asked, with a glimmer of pride in my eyes. I was no longer that shy kid. I had a group of friends now, and was finally growing more confident. Lola was even thinking about transferring to our school. At the end of the day, as always, I walked toward the forest. Lola was already inside. Now this is my opinion, but I think home means “the connection you have with a special place, and the special people inside that place.” It’s not about proper shelter, parents, or even special books. It’s a special place that connects with who you are. I closed my eyes as I whispered, “Home sweet home.” Every person in Canada or anywhere in the world deserves a special place or a home, no matter their origin, race, religion, or background. They deserve a place where they can be themselves, and feel safe and happy. It’s not the items that make it special. It’s the people, the connection, the love, and the familiarity around your very own home.