My Meaning of Home

My home has always felt like a home since I first moved to Winnipeg from Ontario. Though my old home will always have a special place in my heart and will always be nostalgic to me, it will always feel like home. But home is not just a place or object; it is the people that stay and surround you with love and care. When I first walk into my home after school, I see our entryway, the pictures of me and my family at the beach, laughing, and smiling. I can practically hear the warm laughter, the music flowing from our speakers, and the gorgeous blue waves crashing against the already wet grey rocks. On Sundays after church, we cook, making Jollof rice, which tastes like a rich, smoky heaven, and coconut rice, which is like a creamy cloud of spices and flavour. After all the excitement of cooking, the house cools down and gets quiet. It feels like warm, calm solitude—not lonely, just peaceful. Hugs from my parents feel like a warm cup of love and care, lying in my bed after a long day I relax fully. The white noise of my fan slowly soothes me into sleep; the feel of my teddy bear as I stroke his fur. I love everything in my home, from my family to my bedroom. For me, if I had to pick my favourite place, it would not even be my home. It would be anywhere my family is, without them I would not have a home, because they are my home. So, thank you to Habitat for Humanity for supporting unhoused people and keeping people's hopes up.