From the Bahamas to Canada

Being from The Bahamas, I often find myself saying that I miss home. Whenever I have those thoughts, I’m not thinking about a place but more so about my friends and family members that I left behind. I miss seeing them every day and having fun with them, especially my best friend Terrence who lived right next door to me. I miss him coming over and knocking on my window so that we could go outside and play. I also think about the food I used to eat, like conch salad and daiquiri, two of my favourite treats that my parents would get me on the weekends. I miss the warmth of the sun on my face when I go outside, and going to the beach to cool off from that very sun that sometimes overheats my body. I miss my godparents and my many, MANY cousins. I miss my aunts, my uncles, all of them. So, to conclude all things that have been stated, the meaning of home to me, is not really a physical building or a country but a place of familiarity. Being with people that I grew up with and saw almost every day. A place where I could close my eyes and know exactly where I was going. Somewhere that I knew about all my life and was able to identify with because it was all that I knew. It is a place where I feel safe and loved.