2025/Belldandy-

Home is often defined as a physical space, a permanent place where a person feels a sense of belonging. It is typically viewed as a location filled with cherished memories and personal significance. However, this is a concept foreign to me. Growing up in a constantly moving family, I struggled to grasp what home truly meant. My life was a whirlwind of transitions, and the idea of a stable, memorable environment seemed like an unattainable dream.

As a child, I felt angry and frustrated. I longed for that feeling of home that everyone around me seemed to have. I wanted a space that was uniquely mine, filled with familiar sights, sounds, and smells. I envisioned a cozy room decorated with personal touches, a sanctuary where I could belong. Yet, with every move, I found myself carrying nothing but a backpack, always ready to leave. How could I hope to have a home when my life’s only constant is changed?

However, the more I grew, the more I realized how wrong my view was. Yes, home can be physical, but it is also emotional. It is a feeling beyond walls and roofs. A home is built on relationships and experiences shared with loved ones, regardless of where life takes you. A home is woven into interactions with family and friends. The laughter shared over meals, the late-night conversations, and the breakdowns filled with support. Each new location is an opportunity to create memories and even deeper bonds. These are the threads that connect me to my belief of home and led me to realize I could build a home in my heart.

My family is my true home, and I felt that sense of belonging since day one; I only needed to recognize it. The support, love, and comfort we have are what makes any place feel special. Whether we are in an apartment in one city or a house in another, home lives within us, not the walls that surround us. It is in memory. I remember my father's laughter as he helped me learn to ride my bike, his hands steadying me as I wobbled, the world blurring around me. "You can do it," he encouraged and as I found my balance, exhilaration filled my heart—a floor sturdy and firm, woven from the threads of support. I remember sitting cross-legged in the living room, my mother’s voice soft and stern as she read each vocabulary word to me. When I stumbled over letters, her patient corrections guided me. When I won second place in the spelling bee, her smiling face ignited in me a love for learning—a roof woven from the threads of love. I remember late-night giggles, whispering secrets under the covers, and sharing dreams of the future. My sister, my partner-in-crime, and my fiercest bully. She painted my world with laughter and mischief—a wall woven from the threads of comfort.

Home is a concept that goes beyond physical. Home belongs to you. While I may not have had a traditional home filled with years of memories in one location, I embrace the idea that home is where the heart is. Ultimately, it is not the place that defines my home. It is the scent of my mother’s cooking through the air, the sound of my father’s encouraging words, and the warmth of my sister’s laugh. Those pieces of life, woven together, become my sanctuary. My home is not a physical space; it is an emotion, a poem written in the ink of love. No matter where life takes me, I carry my home within me, alive and beating.