Building a Home

For the first fifteen years of my life, I did not have a home. At least not what someone would conventionally call a home. My mom and I spent those years roaming from place to place. Nonetheless, I always managed to make myself feel at home, regardless of where I was. This was possible because for me, home was never a physical place, it was the home I had built within myself. One so strong, that I could take it anywhere and welcome others to stay.

I wanted my home to be: encouraging, happy, and constant. Naturally, I became all of those things for myself and those around me. I consider these as the original rooms or features of my home. One that only grew bigger with every place I lived. Each place provided me with the materials necessary to create additional rooms, making it easier for me to feel at home wherever I go.

Florida gave me clarity, empathy and patience.

New York sturdiness.

And Venezuela gave me courage and humility.

I built a home for more than just myself, as I move through life offering the warmth of a home to those around me.

A home that acquires new trinkets as life goes on and protects my essence.

I will continue to make a home for myself wherever I go and it will always be open to those around me.

You’re your first home, it’s about time you learned to love it

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