Essay about A Home that I Can Point To

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! There was a knock the door late at night. There was a letter, it was from the manager at the sunny slope apartments. The next morning we opened the letter. It said we were getting evicted. We didn’t know why. But we knew what it meant, we had to move! We were so worried, because we didn’t know where we could move or even worst of all we didn’t know if we were going to have to move a different school. I had been at that school my whole life, and known all of my friends there.

Family is defined differently for everyone. Family members can live down the street or in another country. Some people have close knit families while others do not. Similarly, home is also defined differently for everyone. Some people might believe that home is just the house they live in, and with each move comes a new home. Others, however, believe that home is where their family is. People use family as a way to define home in slightly different ways. For example, in her essay “On Going Home,” Joan Didion writes about wanting to give her daughter “home” for her birthday. Didion describes her home as being where her family is. In his essay, “Coming Home Again,” Chang-Rae Lee uses his mother as a way of defining his home. In the third

My daughter immediately began packing her stuff; she was going back to her Nana’s house. After packing what I felt was important and securing the backdoor as well as we could, we left and went back to my mom’s house. The next day I called the owner and told him I was moving back home. I felt defeated and taken advantage of. Not taken advantage of by the owner, but just in general, by life. I asked the two neighbors closest to me if they had notice anyone around my place the day before, but no one saw anything. The elderly man that was normally sitting outside by his fence was at the hospital with his wife all day. The male who lived directly next door stated he worked all night so he was sleeping the majority of the day. So we packed what was left of our items and just like that we were back home, back in my childhood room. We were going back to where we felt secure and protected. It was a short experience, but it showed me how looks can be deceiving and sometimes we don’t always make the right choices at the right time. I felt so vulnerable, but at the same time I felt I was meant to go through that situation so that I could appreciate what I had. It wasn’t about being an adult or being on my own, but being able to protect what I loved and cared the most about. I loved my shoes, especially my Nike Air Jordan’s to be

Aristotle Onassis, a businessman, once said, “It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.” This unequivocal quote connects with the writing style of the author in Sandra Cisneros coming-of-age novel, The House on Mango Street. Esperanza, the narrator, has never been blessed with everything she could ever wanted, whether it be her clothes, furniture, homes, or just the neighborhoods she predominantly lived in. The actuality of her families insufficiency of prosperity humiliated Esperanza, her entire life. Furthermore, Sandra Cisneros’ distinctive writing style of molding together a story that has a simple meaning. Nevertheless, creates a story where the words lucidly cascade off your tongue forging an engaging story of how a girl struggles to remember how you have to make the best of

Making her way toward the sidewalk, she turned right on Doveland Drive. Without a car, Anita must walk two and a half miles to reach Forest Creek Lane, the predominantly upper-class part of town. As she walked, her stomach turned as if she had ridden a fast carnival ride and no matter what she tried to calm her nerves, her attempts were futile. When she reached the street, she couldn't help but stare in awe at the beautiful houses that lined it. Some had the latest car park in front, others had empty spaces while the owner was at work. Anita imagined handsome doctors carrying briefcases and housewives wearing wearing the latest fashions. Anita, at 22, still lived with her parents in the not-so-nice part of town, where houses where becoming dalapitated and the roads and sidewalks were cracked and never fixed. Always feeling as if she didn't belong where she lived, she often imagianed what it would be like to live as other

As I stepped foot into the house, I noticed that there was no longer wood crackling each time I would walk. The house smelt as if you had just bought a new car, and it was a lot bigger. I was happy, but that did

It is crazy how I will be spending the rest of my life in a town I have never been before. As we drove through Chicago, I couldn't get over how many buildings there were and how crowded it was. This was my first time moving and even though I was very excited I would feel myself getting nervous. As of right now it feels like I am on vacation and this not my new home which makes me anxious. Everything is so new, large, and very loud. Every second I feel like someone is honking their horn with the frustration of traffic and every store is loudly playing a new song as we walk by. After exploring for a bit, we decided it was time to head home and start to unpack, which is when everything began to become chaotic. Our clean and empty house quickly became cluttered with boxes, furniture and miscellaneous things.

The house had been abandoned in the great depression. When the land around it had become a dust bowl there had been no point in staying or trying to sell. The roof now sagged in the middle and were it not for a hole that let the pooled water escape, it would have caved in long ago. The paint that had been white was not so peeled off that it looked out of place amid the dark of rotting wood. The windows were boarded up by the family who thought they would return one day. it was a fine house in it's day, but for most of it's life it had only sheltered insects and the occasional bird. Even the once glossy stairs were too weak to bare weight. Inside was dank, gloomy, cold. The furniture, untouched in decades, was decaying and frayed. The floor

For the first time, I realize how empty our house has become. I buy food, but never enough to come even close to filling the cupboards or the icebox. What small amount of furniture we have not already sold or donated to families who are in need, could all fit comfortably in our dining room. The walls, which were once covered with beautiful paintings and artwork and family pictures, are now mostly bare. One would not have to look very hard to see where they once had hung, since the sun faded the wallpaper so badly. This house just feels empty.

It presented a different, more negative atmosphere than the city. This was my home, a rented apartment that I couldn’t really call home. It would never be permanent and I can’t always come back because it was rented, not purchased. The walls were full of faded paint and insects crawling about. Eventually, even my cheerful and playful attitude was affected and I felt the desire to live in an alternative setting.

It was not until my mom moved us to a quiet, secluded neighborhood that I realized that Sacramento was not that bad after all. There was bright green grass and well-maintained cars. The air often smelled clean, as if it had rained the previous day. I never felt so relieved moving into my new home. I no longer spent nights staying up at night, praying for no one to vandalize or intrude into our home. There were not abandoned, wrecked cars scattered in this discreet neighborhood. There was not as much garbage littering the streets like my previous home. Neighbors smiled and greeted me as I walk to school in the morning. I was able to

On the edge of Dallas, bordering the suburbs, I come from a home that is no longer mine. My family has moved, but that place is engraved in me as the initials of my family is engraved on the top step of the porch. I miss its five steps to the door, I miss its pink bricks that nowadays are hard to find, I miss its 12 orange squares designed on the front and alongside the wide open window that welcomed the light from dawn to dusk. It was homey and comfortable, in it occupied my mother’s huge kitchen, a spacey living room and orange tiles in the main bathroom. The house was not big and luxurious, but it was perfect to me. The best yet was its location, I could easily find a McDonalds, Walmart, a library, plenty of thrift stores, Cici’s Pizza,

The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning

Home is the place one spends more time in their life and share special moments with family. Where one expects to live permanently carefree and feel protected under the roof of their house. One day I want to have a home that makes me feel well and where I can be safe and happy. The purpose of this essay is to illustrate the decisions I made about designing my future dream house.

One place that I see every day but don’t put much attention to is my house. The house that I live in is near by a park and a gas station. My house is small and cozy is made of steel frames, the anterior part of the house has a beige and pink color that combine a beautiful shade. The inside of my house has many portraits of family members and drawings. I have a total of two bathrooms and four rooms a kitchen and two living rooms. We have a living room that’s used for grown-ups and the other one is used for the children. The kitchen table and chairs are made of wood, in the ceiling there is big chandelier. The walls of my house are painted in different colors that are green, beige and pink. I like that every room has its own different color, it’s not boring it brings life and shade.