What Home means to Me

what home means to me Home. It sounds boring, right? What are you going to talk about, the floor plan? But that’s not what home really is. You might think of a fancy house with a 50-inch flat-screen TV and a plush couch, but sometimes, a refugee camp can feel more like a home than all those things. If you spend all your time on screens or just studying, can you really call it a home? Or even a house? I’m not saying I’m perfect at this, but the most important thing is to bond with the people you care about. The smallest moments count, like going to Canada’s Wonderland or just cutting up fruit for lunch with your mom. Those little things are what make a home, not just a place to live. When Salva Dut came to America, did he think it was magical? No. The answer is no. He probably thought our technology was cool, but that didn’t make us feel like home. We were different in ways that weren’t so good. In his old home, he could play outside without worrying. But here, he couldn’t even walk on someone’s yard without them calling the police. “Hello, 911, there’s a grown man on my front porch, and he wasn’t invited.” That’s not what a home is about. It’s the feeling of being comfortable with the people around you, not how nice your couch is. Home isn’t about big houses or new things. It's about being in a place where you can be yourself, even if it’s not perfect. Sometimes, it’s the mess or the noise that makes it feel right, like when everyone’s arguing about what to watch on TV but you’re all still together, laughing and yelling. That’s home. When I think of home, I think about my family. Sure, sometimes we fight or get on each other's nerves, but those are the people who know me the best. They’re the ones I can count on. It’s the hugs after a tough day, or just sitting around the table, eating dinner, and talking about whatever. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a mansion or a small apartment. If we’re all there, it feels like home.