A Memory Called Home

Home can mean a trillion different things for a ton of different people. It could be a person, place, or a thing. But for me home are memories. The memories when you wish time would just stop, when you're laughing so hard that your tummy hurts so bad and you wish you could stop but you just can't stop laughing, or when you're smiling so hard that it feels like your face is going to fall off. Those memories when you're with the people that care about you, the people who you cherish, the people who you wish were the only people in the world and you could just stay with them forever. For me, it's the memories when I was celebrating my birthday with my family, when we went to the park with bright green grass and I could smell the warm spring air. I remember how we had shawarma that was so spicy I thought my mouth would burn off. I remember that big tree that my sister and I tried climbing, even though we didn't get to the top it felt like I was a bird soaring in the air. I remember that I could feel the warm wind blowing on my face. I remember the lake nearby and how I could hear each wave like I had super hearing. I remember how bad at volleyball they were but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that I could hear all their laughter and how I wished we could stay there forever. But the moment they were singing Happy Birthday, it was at that moment when I realized how lucky I was to have an amazing family to make these nostalgic warm memories to call home. That is my definition of home.