A Home is Love

I used to think a home was a house, but I was wrong. I used to live in a place called Nicaragua, I lived there for seven years. I remember the day I got on that plane, my heart shattered as my family waved goodbye. I had to leave for a better future. I could still call them, but on a tiny screen I would not be able to share that many emotions. The first few weeks were very tough for me. Everywhere I used to go I did not feel at home. Then I found friends who cared about me, teachers who were nice and caring and I slowly started to feel at home again. Now I can proudly call CANADA my new home. Right now, my home has four walls. I get food that is provided for me but that is not what makes it a home. My home is a home because of my family, my friends, the memories that I have made here and the love that they give me every day. A house has four walls, but a home is love and the people who care about you and nothing can change that, even if you move from one country to another.