What Home Means to Me

The meaning of home is not just four walls. It’s the smell of baked cookies fresh out of the oven with gooey, soft chocolate. To me home is where you can be yourself, crazy, goofy anything you want. The taste of home is when my family and I are at the dinner table, and my parents say “I love you.” The kitchen is my favourite place, the amazing odor of food in the air, the place where you burned your arm, cut yourself with the ”Grownup knife,” and made your first sandwich. When I see home I don't just see furniture, I see that love and happiness is spread when my dad tucks me in. The feeling of home is when it is a blizzard outside, and you have a cozy bed to sleep in with a warm cup of hot chocolate. Sometimes you will be mad, sad, and annoyed, but we have people who we can talk to. But with a house you can't talk to walls, or furniture. That's what's different about a home and a house. I also remember, even though a house is pretty and colourful, when you are in your home it shines brighter than ever before. A home is where you celebrate holidays with your family. My happy place is my home, because I've lived in my home for ten years. A home is where you make amazing and terrible memories, where over the years you grow up in your home. The attic and the basement you go through memory lane with a photo of your brother smearing icing on your face on your sixth birthday. Even if parities are fun, and going to your friend’s house is a blast, nothing beats home. These may be little things but to me, this my home.