I love my Home

I love my home. It’s a place where I feel loved and cared for, no matter what I do. Having a bad day at school doesn’t change that. Mistakes don’t matter, because everyone makes them. We try to learn together and learn from each other’s mess-ups. My home isn’t just in my house. Sometimes, when we’re taking road trips we stop at a motel, just because my family is there makes it feel like home. Most people assume home is just my family, but not so. Home is where I am accepted. My friends are also people who care deeply about me. We don’t have to text or see each other everyday to feel connected. A lot of the time they get things that other people don’t. It helps me a lot that there are two groups of people I can always go to. Home, if you can believe it, doesn’t have to be a building. If I got lost in my neighborhood, I know that at least two people would guide me back to my house again. It’s nice to know that we don’t have to know each other to be community. I know that they care no matter what. So in the end, it’s not the size of the house, or the quality of the air or even the temperature. It’s the realization that I’m not alone, because after everything, my homes (pluriel), is still a refuge I can come back to.