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What It Was.

Jennifer Navarro

By Jennifer NavarroPublished 3 years ago 2 min read
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What It Was.

What does home mean to me?

When I was young, home was the place where all my stuffed animals were gathered, waiting for my exciting news of the next tea party extravaganza. It was the yard that gave me scrapes and bruises every time I attempted a handstand or cartwheel. It was the place all my friends challenged me who could jump the highest in the pink bouncy castle for my 6th birthday.

When I was a teen, home was the friends I created memorable moments with. The ones who understood me, the way I didn’t bother having my parents try to. It was the moments of adrenaline rush when we snuck out of the bedroom window to go hang with the cool boys. It was the therapeutic late-night drives around the city, singing pop songs at the top of our lungs.

As a young adult, home became a list of endless possibilities. The choice to go halfway across the globe, the next state over or stay exactly where I was; that choice was all mine. All of them were capable of being home. It was the excitement at the thought of getting to create a space my very own. All with my charm, my warmth, my hope. A symbol of my hard work and independence.

Now, some time has passed, and clarity has set in. Home is not the place where I had my birthday parties. That home held more bad memories than good ones. Home was not my friends that I trusted with my deepest and darkest secrets. They didn’t even blink twice when it came time for me to go. Home was not whatever city I wished it to be. Because no matter where I went, I still struggled with the basics of adult life and never having the chance or time to feed my true potential.

Maybe I will find a home when I’m older?

But what if I don’t?

What if the only thing I find are wrinkles on my skin and more debt to my name?

What if the urge to throw a birthday party or to sing with some friends comes along and I have no home to house those memories in?

Well...

In case that if comes along, I will become my own home.

For I was the one there to comfort myself when the bad days came. I was the one to be my own friend when the others failed me. I was the one to have such high ambitions to drive me to any city I desired. I was the one to remind myself the worse did not deserve to win. I was always my home. No matter how many renovations, demolitions, or remodels I went through; I was always the shelter I needed.

I am home.

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