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