HOME IS A PART OF ME

Home is not a pin on a map, not a street name memorized by muscle memory, not walls standing still long enough to promise permanence. Home is the smell of something cooking that reminds me of a time I felt safe, even if I can’t remember exactly when. Home is where I don’t have to explain myself, where my silence is understood and my mess is allowed to exist. Where I can take off the weight of the world and set it down by the door, knowing it will still be there tomorrow, but it doesn’t get to own me here. Home is made of people. voices that say my name like it matters that I’m here. Sometimes home is a version of myself I’m still learning how to return to. Home is forgiveness for who I was, for who I’m becoming, for all the times I thought I had to be someone else to deserve love. It is the place that tells me I am enough as I am, even when I’m breaking. Home is warmth in the middle of winter, light spilling through a window at dusk, the comfort of knowing someone would notice if I didn’t come back. It’s not perfect. It’s not always peaceful. But it is honest. And it is mine. Home is where my story makes sense, where my roots are allowed to grow deep your voice and my dreams are given space to breathe. Where I'm reminded, again and again, that no matter how far I wander, I am never truly lost.. Thank you Habitat for Humanity for caring for those who need caring, I hope my donation helps those in need. Kaydence Ewbank, grade 6, 11 years old, Morris school, Mrs. Ginter’s class