Home is a very vague term in my personal perspective. Moving from house to house doesn’t necessarily change where your ‘home’ is. Your home can be inside your heart, or even your mind. You can choose where you feel the most comfortable, and where you have the biggest, ripest family.

Home can be interpreted in numerous ways, like where you feel the most loved. I find that my home is anywhere I can be myself. It doesn’t have to be locked away in your room or behind a smudged, glass window. It can be far beyond that. Beyond the soft dew in the grass, settled on your front lawn. Sailing past the winds of the calming breeze that soars over the roof of your shelter.

Home doesn’t have to be a permanent settlement where you sleep, eat, get ready in the morning and return every night.

It can be a small seed planted in your heart, growing bigger and more beautiful the more you take care of it. You can help it grow by giving it water, sunlight and soil; friends, family and loves ones.

Home moves where I move. It follows me anywhere I go, and even if I feel completely lost, I still have a small piece of home within my heart. I can’t fully get rid of it, even if I really wanted to, because it’s a part of me. I can share my home with people as well. I can give them a small taste of what it’s like to live in my shoes, and share experiences of my childhood. Our homes are our stories; our fairytales. Dreams coming true isn’t just for princesses and kingdoms. Even though they may be living in massive structures built for royalty doesn’t necessarily mean they have a bigger home than we do.

Their portion of caring and love could be extravagantly smaller than what we have in our hearts today. The amount of happiness, joy, compassion and forgiveness is what makes up a perfect home.