Memories of home

My mom wakes up my brother and I with a loud shout of “Pizza!” while a loving smile illuminates her face. We race down the hall still in our pajamas to where the gold covered delicious treasure lies. I could already taste and smell the fresh out of oven cheese and pepperoni pizza as my mouth watered, enjoying the morning bustle with every bite. This is home. My dog, Bubbles, basks in the big open field right behind my apartment as the sun shines high in the morning sky. The wind whistles in our ears as the blades of grass dance along with it. My mom knits our scarves, and my sister reads books out on our porch, enjoying the gentle breeze. This is home. My brother watches me as I play beautiful songs on the piano. We hum along to the music as I narrate my childhood and culture, which I all pour into my music. The piano is our own storyteller sharing melodic memories through each note. This is home. Our feet hit the rocky path heading to our usual bench on the beach. “Last one there is a rotten egg,”my dad shouts. With all the power in me,I pump up my legs and pass the blur of green from the cedar trees and lovely flowers. I slam onto the bench,panting. My dad perched himself down beside me as I stared out to the North Pacific Ocean. We hear the tides gently collide with the stones and pebbles as I look behind emeralds to where a few vans stroll out on the open street. I smile and think that “Vancouver” lives up to its name. “Time to go home,”my dad says. I nod but think,we already are. This is home.