Marie Jennings plays softball and is on the JV team. She is excited to go to Japan with Ms. Lange’s tour group this summer. She wrote this essay because she believes home can be anywhere. To her, home is not just a place, it’s also her mom, pets, and girlfriend.
Have you ever thought, “I want to go home” while you were at your house? It’s a widely known fallacy that “home” can only be the house that you live in; this however is false. There is the old adage: Home is where the heart is. I believe that home is what a person makes it to be, whether it be a person, pet, or whatever you choose. Home can be found anywhere, not just within the confines of your house. Home can be found at school, at work, or even at someone else’s house. Home comes in many different forms.
I remember when I realized that home wasn’t the house, I lived in. I was crying on my friend’s lap in my room because I was so overwhelmed that I wanted to go home. But then, I thought to myself – wasn’t I already home? My house was my home, wasn’t it? She could clearly see I was distressed and asked me if I was okay. I told her it didn’t feel like I was home, but that I was just living in a space given to me as shelter. I felt like a guest in my own house. As my friend comforted me, she explained to me that home doesn’t necessarily have to be the house you live in. It could be a person that you care about, a pet that you cherish and love, or even someone else’s house. She told me for her, home was her cat. She encouraged me to think over what I thought home might mean to me, but it didn’t come to me until weeks later.
My mother and I were driving after she had picked me up from school one day. We were casually talking about how my day had been. I realized then what home meant to me. She was my home. It didn’t matter how much I would complain, she had the patience of a painter, who was painting a masterpiece. She’d listen to my woes and provide advice when I asked for it. She was reliable like that one slogan: Safelite repairs, Safelite replace. Even on days when she’d pick me up from school and I was in a bad mood, she was always there to comfort me, like a fireplace on a snowy day. I can remember many times where my mother just instinctively knew what I needed, without me asking for it. A hug, a drink, even though I didn’t realize I was thirsty. She would even sometimes have a snack ready for me if she sensed I was hungry. She could always anticipate something I needed.
My mutti is my home, a person I can go to when seeking comfort. I don’t have to fear judgement because I know she is a person I can always come back to, no matter what. She was the definition of “home is where the heart is”; she was the reason I could confidently say: “This is my home.” Without her, I might not truly understand the power that “home” has.
