“Home is where the heart is.” We’ve all heard this saying countless times, but what exactly does it mean? In my opinion, home is the place you rest your head on your pillow at night. I’m a freshman at Stephen F. Austin State University and I refer to my dorm room as, home. However, my heart and true home belong in Katy Texas.
When I close my eyes and think about my home, I hear my front door closing in that annoying-squeaking way that it always does. I then begin to hear my dogs barking and running around the corner of the fireplace all ferocious with their teeth showing. I know that it’s all a front; all they want is for me to pet, scratch, and love on them. I hear my dad working on one of his countless never ending projects that start out as easy do it yourself projects that ends up being a neighborhood project before long. I see my mom in the kitchen starting on dinner in her teacher clothes. The aromas of steak seasoning, home made mashed potatoes with garlic cloves and Texas toast fill the air. Then, right as I’m drooling at the mouth for dinner to be served, she quickly remembers about the load of laundry that needs to be folded before they get all wrinkled. I can hear my sister running downstairs in her Kroger work clothes, saying “Goodbye family!” just before she shuts the door shut.


After I climb up my winding wooden stairs, through the narrow hall way and make it to my bedroom, I can see my white carpet with its numerous stains with anything from diet coke to make up accidents. If you take a glimpse at my blue walls that my dad has had to patch up about a thousand times, you will find that I have a “tick tack” addiction. Every picture that I have ever taken, received, or that I thought was significant in any way shape of form, has been tacked on my wall. I can see my dressers that need a fresh coat of tender love and care painted on them. The windows are open and I can see the neighborhood kids playing in front of my house. My full size bed is made in my personal military style way that no one else can ever do. The closet doors are open and I can see my pile of shoes that are missing their partner. I also see my shirts that are in order by color and style followed by the skirts, capris, jeans, dresses and any other miscellaneous outfit that needed a home.
Those familiar sights and sounds all fade away when reality sets in: I’m not in Katy anymore. The new sounds that I hear when I walk in my door are my fans blowing and the CONSTANT slamming of doors all day night. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you may be able to hear a herd of buffalo, also known as my neighbors, running through the wilds of my dorm room floor. I brought pictures to remind me where I came from and to comfort me when I’m down, but nothing comes close to seeing those people everyday like I used to. I posted them throughout my side of the dorm room. My side… I never had a side of a room. I had a whole room. Now I have a study, vanity, closet, kitchen, living and bed room all in one 9x14 living quarter! When you walk in there is no question as to what is mine; if it’s pink it belongs to me. My bed spread, lamp, curtains, picture frames,
dishes, even the duct tape that I have around the room to hide numerous cords, is hot pink. My room looks like it’s been sprayed down with Pepto-Bismol. As a matter of fact, when you walk down the hall way and look at the other girls peep holes; good old 528 has a pink light laminating through it.
Home is the place where you rest your head at night, the place where you feel safe; it’s your escape from reality. I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job of making this room my own great escape. I may not always like where I live but I’ll always love my home. After all, home is where the heart is.