Home is more than a physical structure that housed my growth. Home is walking into the house and smelling my favourite dish being made for dinner by the woman and man who have raised me and love me more than anyone else probably will. Home is knowing that if I miss my bus, that man will drive out and pick me up from the side of the road. Home is knowing that if I royally mess up, and there have been times I have royally messed up,  those people will forgive me and won’t love me any less.

Home is more than where I work every week to make money. Home is the regular customers that remember my name and tell me they miss me. Home is having my co-workers, no my friends, ask me how my life is going. Not only asking, but caring about how my life is going. Home is my friends remembering that my dad had surgery the week before, and buying me Oreo ice cream to make me feel better. Home is knowing that those coworkers and friends will back me up when a difficult customer tries to make my life hell. Home is knowing that those coworkers have my back as much as my family does, even though they don’t have to as much as my family does. 

Home is more than my friends’ houses. Home is knowing that my friends would let me stay with them if I ever get in trouble. Home is knowing my friends will be there at the drop of a dime if I need them. Home is knowing that, when they are there for me, they won’t hold any judgement or preconceptions but will solely focus on making me feel better. Home is knowing that, in my darkest moments, those friends will do all they can to lift me out of that place — and they do a damn good job of it, too.

Home is more than the people who share the same street address as me. Home is my neighbours waving as I walk to my car. Home is my neighbours bringing in my garbage cans for me, or shovelling the snow off my car for me. Home is the people who live in houses completely separate from me, but still make my street feel like a community.

Home is more than the house of the man I love where I’ve grown as comfortable as I am in my own. Home is how he makes me feel appreciated without uttering a single word. Home is feeling safe enough to release my insecurities whenever I am with him. Home is the skills that he teaches me almost everyday to help me improve my way of living, and the skills that I teach him. Home is feeling unconditionally, unapologetically, and unabashedly loved.

Home is more than the physical structure of my room. Home is the peace I feel when I crawl into my own bed, my warm sheets, my soft pillow. Home is knowing that when I lay down to sleep, I may physically be alone but I never really am.

Home is so much more than a building, a structure, a room. Home is the feeling you get from the people you choose to surround yourself with — a feeling of belonging, a feeling of community, and a feeling of love.

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As the amazing Rupaul has famously said, we get to choose our family. I think family and home go hand-in-hand, and I believe that we also get to choose our home. Home can be taken literally as the physical structure in which you live, but I think it is so much more than that. Through my story/poem, I wanted to give the feeling that I get when I am in different situations that feel like second, third, fourth homes to me. More importantly, I wanted to focus on the people in those places that help me feel so comfortable, so loved, and so at home.

I took a different approach to this assignment and I hope you take something away from it that makes you consider and appreciate those that make you feel at home.