Home

Home means different things to different people. For some, it is a place, a feeling, or a person. Home is anything, and anywhere you want it to be.

For me, home is a lot of things. It is the place where I was born. A place where I grew up. A place where I got to know a lot that I know today. A place that made me who I am today.

My home is a place I met love for the first time. I met forgiveness. Sadness. Sorrow. Grief. Gratitude. Courage. Giving. Caring.

A place I got to learn what was love and what wasn’t. A place I got to experience what it means to sacrifice all that you care for the people you love and not expect anything in return. Because you know why? Love is just love. Family is family.

A place I made my first friends. Friends that I love. But I don’t like them all the time. I mean, have you met my siblings? Aah, those people can get on your last nerves. But I wouldn’t change a thing about them. I’m because they are.

And parents? They are superheroes. Do they understand you all the time? Um. No. But they do understand in their ways. They are always there. They want the best for you. They might want it in their way but with good intentions. And that? That is enough.

Home is a feeling of belonging. Being accepted for who you are, being loved and understood. Being true to yourself without being judged. That’s Home. Home is where my skills and expertise are appreciated, accepted, and nourished.

Home is my friends. Friends who choose to accept me. To love me with all that I am. To understand me, to help me get out of my comfort zone. To grow, to learn, and to laugh.

A home is a person, that one person who makes my heart race for no reason. Giggle for no reason. Just the thought of her being there makes me happy. A person who means the world to me. That one person whose love makes me feel like I’m enough. That one person whose presence makes everything shine. Better. Her presence makes me love myself even more.