Have you ever heard the saying, “home is where the heart is”? This makes so much sense, because everyone you love either lives in your home, or comes to visit you. They may come in all different shapes and sizes, but they serve a much greater purpose then simply covering our heads and storing our possessions. I believe that there is no place like home.
My home isn’t just a place where I sleep and eat; it’s a gathering place for my friends and family. It’s a place where I don’t have to hide my emotions, because everyone who’s ever there are those who care about me. I can be myself, and I don’t have to worry about what other people think about me. I believe that a home is a place where I can be as silly as I want and not be embarrassed about anything.
Although many of us, when we think of home, think of homework, annoying siblings, and chores. We never seem to look beyond all of that and see the importance of home. Stop and think for a second, what would your life be like without your home? No home means no shelter, no shower, no bed, and nowhere to feel truly safe. I believe my life would be miserable without a loving home.
I don’t just love my home because it’s a great place to relax and be myself, but because my family lives there too. I love my family, and it’s wonderful to have a place to be with them, because honestly, I’m not home very often. No matter how many homes I have in my life, I know that the feeling I have at home will never change, because of my family. I believe a home isn’t made up of just architectural designs and some bricks thrown together, but of people who live there and care about one another.
My belief is a simple one, but my home is the refuge in my complicated life. It’s sometimes easy to take a home for granted, and I typically treat it like a pit-stop, but I know it serves a much greater purpose. It is a place that holds my memories, a place where I lay my head, but more importantly, a place where I feel myself.
Reported speech with say and tell Last week our history teacher said that she wanted to find some photos from the 1950s. My grandfather lent me some great photos of him and my grandmother in 1957. He told that I would have to be careful with them, because they were very precious to him. But on the way to school, I lost them! When I got home, I felt terrible. I knew Grandad would be upset. Then a woman came to the door. She told me she had to find them in the street. She said that she had known my grandfather for many years and that she was so relieved!
My home isn’t just a place where I sleep and eat; it’s a gathering place for my friends and family. It’s a place where I don’t have to hide my emotions, because everyone who’s ever there are those who care about me. I can be myself, and I don’t have to worry about what other people think about me. I believe that a home is a place where I can be as silly as I want and not be embarrassed about anything.
Although many of us, when we think of home, think of homework, annoying siblings, and chores. We never seem to look beyond all of that and see the importance of home. Stop and think for a second, what would your life be like without your home? No home means no shelter, no shower, no bed, and nowhere to feel truly safe. I believe my life would be miserable without a loving home.
I don’t just love my home because it’s a great place to relax and be myself, but because my family lives there too. I love my family, and it’s wonderful to have a place to be with them, because honestly, I’m not home very often. No matter how many homes I have in my life, I know that the feeling I have at home will never change, because of my family. I believe a home isn’t made up of just architectural designs and some bricks thrown together, but of people who live there and care about one another.
My belief is a simple one, but my home is the refuge in my complicated life. It’s sometimes easy to take a home for granted, and I typically treat it like a pit-stop, but I know it serves a much greater purpose. It is a place that holds my memories, a place where I lay my head, but more importantly, a place where I feel myself.
Last week our history teacher said that she wanted to find some photos from the 1950s. My grandfather lent me some great photos of him and my grandmother in 1957. He told that I would have to be careful with them, because they were very precious to him. But on the way to school, I lost them! When I got home, I felt terrible. I knew Grandad would be upset. Then a woman came to the door. She told me she had to find them in the street. She said that she had known my grandfather for many years and that she was so relieved!