I was born in Langley, BC.

My parents had a little house on an acreage for us to run and play. Our backyard was full of adventures. There was a sandbox and swing-set for us to play on, a big hill for us to create a giant waterslide in the summertime, a pond with frogs that we could listen to, and a section of our yard that the grass was let to grow long, with the exception of small trails my dad would mow for us to walk in and explore.

Our house was a cozy haven; a place of safety and comfort. The living areas were filled with wood tones and a tall fireplace that my sisters and I would dance around with music, in little pink tutus that were stained from the blackberries we could pick in our backyard. My parents’ bedroom had a bay window overlooking our yard. Perched on the bay window’s sill was the basinet, woven cords covered in white silk and flowers, of our newest sibling. Their room was filled with light and happiness. The playroom was a place of endless possibilities. It had a piano to make music, a couch to jump on, and many, many toys to play with.

When we moved, I don’t remember being too sad about it. I was five at the time, and remember the anxious excitement as we ran around our new house in Kelowna, BC. As a child, I didn’t see it as a chapter closing, only as a new one beginning.

Our home in Kelowna was slightly larger, with a better layout for a growing family, and less yard space to care for. There was still lots of room to run and play in the yard, but it didn’t have the same adventurous spirit the acreage did. We didn’t stay in that house long before my parents decided it needed to be renovated, which caused us to move two different times in the process, but those places never really felt like home.

The house grew much bigger during the renovation, and much fancier; every doorway now had a small glass window above it and wooden details were placed everywhere your eyes glanced. Each of my siblings and I had our own rooms, as well as a shared play space downstairs. This is where I grew up. This is where we got both our dogs, and our first one spent her last days. This is where my family would run to the beach in the summers, and have family game nights growing up. This is where my sisters and I would put on dance shows in the backyard. This is where I learned to ride a bike without training wheels, and where I had my first kiss. This is where I cried when my first boyfriend broke up with me. This is the house I said goodbye to when I moved to Vancouver to go to school.

My parents moved again after I had been in school for a few years. The new house is nice, it’s smaller and more modern, but it’s not home. I know home is supposed to be wherever your family is, and in a way for me that’s true, but my family is my home. The house I grew up in holds all of my childhood memories and adolescent dramas. When I think of home, that’s where I picture it.