The House That Holds Us

Home seems like a small word - only four letters. But when my teachers asks us to write about it, suddenly it feels as wide as the sky. I ask my mum, "What makes a home, really?" She smiles and says, "Home is where you feel safe being yourself." I carry that thought carefully, thinking of all the ways it might be true. I think of sunny mornings with my dog curled beside me, and the sweet smell of crepes drifting through the kitchen. I think of my piano filling the rooms with music, and the notes bouncing off the walls like they belong there. I think of running, skiing, and swimming, and the cheers I hear behind me, whether I succeed or stumble. I think of quiet reading corners, whispered secrets, and long hugs that wrap me up in coziness. None of these moments are made of wood or nails. They are made of people and love. They are the stories that the walls hold. A house can stay the same for years, but a home is always growing, always becoming more. It grows in small, everyday moments - in laughter, hugs, and other adventures that sparkle in my mind years later. Each day leaves its mark. And that is what my mum meant. Home is where you feel safe being yourself - and where life keeps unfolding, one memory at a time.