What is MY Home?

I have lived in so many places I called “home,” not just one. I thought that “home” meant, shelter, a place that is a building. But now I realize—that was never true. From moving place to place, country to country, I started as a baby in Syria but left at less than 1 year old. I moved to Turkey which used to be my home, but I left again at 4 years old. Now I am in Canada. And I know my home. My home is…— My family gathered up at the breakfast table. My cousins at my house almost every day. My brother watching TV upstairs or making forts. My sister on her phone. My mom cleaning or doing chores. My dad comes back from his long truck work every week. My mom yelling “Get ready, you have dance in 20 minutes!” My home is going in my nice comfy room then sitting on my spinney chair while eating nice, yummy home cooked food or noodles. My home is waking up on a sunny morning during summer break and going outside to feel a cool breeze while drinking my cool lemonade I made. My home is having yogurt bowls with fruit in the morning. My home is everything that makes me... me! My home is the people I love. My home is all my experiences. But did you notice how all this stuff that I called home started with—my home? Do you know why? Because not everyone’s home is—my home. You and I both have different homes—even if they are so similar. So, in that case…— What is YOUR Home?