Week 3

My dog Vinny, my sister's goodbye party,
and my family and I over the weekend at our friend's wedding. 

The word home should be applied to a location, person, or object that reminds someone of comfort, love, and happiness. It is often believed that a home, is the house one grew up in, with a family, pets, and great laughs, but a home can be much more than just another location. As the child of immigrant parents, growing up in America and considering it my home was often difficult. My parents migrated from Colombia at a very mature age, that was the Country they always called home. Attempting to establish my home in America, often felt as though a sort of displacement had occurred. As a child, thoughts of where I belonged constantly filled my head, because of the perception that we actually belonged in Colombia. After visiting my native country at a very young age, the climate, vibrancy, and family members we stayed with filled my heart with an unexplainable pleasure. Colombia was considered my home in my young mind for many years until our family began to travel to farther countries such as Mexico, Dominican Republic, and the Bahamas.

That is when I began to realize that visiting those countries, although they lacked my personal family members, still brought the same pleasure and comfort. Then the question of where my heart and home belonged became a mystery once again. My home in New Jersey contained my parents, sister, pets, and personal items held dearly to me. Growing up in our first house brought many beautiful memories such as, going to prom, buying my first car, and every birthday we celebrated. There was nothing wrong with Jersey City, New Jersey, but my home was not this location because it was just a materialistic residence filled with materialistic pieces. These pieces constructed my house, but that is not what made it a home. Anyone has the ability to purchase decorations, furniture, and essential household items. My home was not the house I grew up in, but the members that brought these feelings of trust, safety, and satisfaction.

My sister Roseline, my mother Patricia, my father Israel, and our dogs are my home, no matter where we travel, live, or move to my home will always be with me as long as I am with them. They are what constructed my childhood memories, brightened my days, and reassured positivity into my life. My parents are who helped me buy my first car, threw my birthday celebrations, and encouraged me to be involved in school activities. Roseline is more than a sister, but a best friend who even when she is studying across the country, continues to answer every call I make to her and listen to my concerns. My home is more than just the little gray house with a red roof, it is the people that worked and struggled to buy, improve, and make it our own.