When I Open the Door to Home!

When I open the door to my home, I see some furniture and a few rooms. There’s some scattered mess of books and toys everywhere, but it doesn't matter. My home isn’t defined by the size, or decor; it’s the love, memories, and people within that count. At home, I feel like I belong and am safe. I’m not afraid of sharing my thoughts, ideas, or secrets. It’s where I’m loved, and where I love others. In my case, it’s my family that shares the love in my home. Home is where I enjoy meals over conversation with my family, where we share stories of our days. Sure, sometimes, I have bittersweet memories and moments with my family; like my sister and I arguing, but however harsh or bitter we are with each other, we always make up, because we know that it wouldn’t feel like home without each other. That’s what makes a family. Memories - so many of them - are made at home. You can tell just by all the picture frames hung on the wall, full of old memories and family photos. Of all the memories in my brain, the earliest, most treasured ones are made at home. I shed my tears, and share my love in the warm coziness of home. Home is where I continue to make more of these precious memories with my family. So, I don’t think that home needs to be only one place. It can be wherever, as long as it holds my treasured memories, love, and family. There’s no place quite like home that provides that comfort and warmth. And the warmth from my home comes not from the air vents, but from the love I share with my family. Thank you, Habitat of Humanity, for letting others feel that warmth.