What home means to me

The word home has different meanings to different people, but to me home is a feeling, a smell, and a memory. When I walk into my home I feel relaxed, like a weight instantly lifted off my shoulders. Every mark on the wall, every repaired object is a memory no matter how big or small. A memory that I am reminded of every day in my home. When I am walking or going for a drive I see houses. To me they are just structures, random buildings that have no meaning, but I know that every house is or was a home to somebody. No matter the differences like the people in it, the way it looks, or smells. My home is where I learned lessons and my first steps took place. I can laugh or cry and no shame will occur. My home is where I learned to be me. In my home I feel happy and content but I also know it's okay to be sorrow and blue. When my mom cooks, the wonderful smell fills the air. When my dad builds a fire in the wood stove, I smell the wood burning. I remember that smell. Every time I smell it, I get a sense of peace because it reminds me of when I was younger. Something I love about my home is the people who live there, my mom, my dad, my brother. They are the people who created the memories with me. Who cooks the satisfying meals, who comforts me, who makes me laugh. The people who made me who I am today. To me, home is not a place, it is a feeling, a smell, and memories. I want to say a big thank you to Habitat for Humanity for making families dreams come true. It's a great program and I hope I can help out a family by writing this letter.