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Happy Home | 5.6.01
I remember the first time I saw my house. It was five years ago when my family moved from Cresskill, NJ to Edison, NJ and I remember the disappointment as I saw a small, ugly-colored townhouse at the corner of the street. It was much smaller than the townhouse I had lived in during my years in Cresskill and though it came with three bedrooms and 2.5 baths, I felt claustrophobic in the airtight spacing of the house. It took me a while before I was comfortable with where I lived. I remember several occasions when I was too embarrassed to have people come over my house because it was tiny. It was after I got into high school that I realized that the size of the home wasn't what mattered; what mattered was whether or not my home made me feel comfortable and in the case of my small home, it certainly did. I credit my mother for turning my house into a lovely place. Once our family began to make some money with our new store in New York, we bought a nice dining table with pretty, matching chairs. When our 19" television blew out because it was 10 years old, we bought a decent 27" television and also bought a television cabinet that made the living room look nicer. My mom's great taste allowed her to choose simple, yet very pleasing colors that created a very cozy environment. My grandma also livened up the house with her plants; the tincture of greenery at every corner of the house (except my sister's room) adds another pleasing element to my house. What really makes my home a place that I love is the coziness. The coziness of this home is best depicted on Saturday evenings, when the first floor of my house, with the kitchen/living room/dining space all bunched up, is bustling with activity. My father might be watching TV while sitting in the recliner, my sister may be reading a book on the dining table, I might be helping my mother carry dishes, and my mother and grandma may be in the kitchen preparing the food. It's just a wonderful feeling to see everyone together in the same place at the same time, and the compactness of my home brings all our activity even closer. I happen to be a neat freak of sorts and I find myself cleaning my room at least once a week if not more. The reason I do this is because my room reflects who I am very well. A few years ago, I switched rooms with my sister because she had been sharing it with my grandma in a bigger room while I was in a tiny room by myself. My grandma was relegated to sleeping in the living room while my sister took the smaller bedroom and I was given the bigger room. It took me a few days to move everything to the new room, but this was the first time in my life that I got to plan everything in the room: the placement of my bed, the arrangement of the desk and computer, the order of my bookshelf, etc. I even took the trouble to bring up my family's circular dining table that we had stopped using a while ago; I made it my study table. The only problem with my room was that the Halogen lamp made the room hot as a sauna. My father fixed the problem by installing fluorescent lights. The brightness of my room is unmatched among my friends and I take great pride in being the host for study nights with my buddies. I also love the contrast between my room and my sister's room. My sister is a big slob and I find it quite amusing. Take a peek into her room and it's a dump with paper and clothes all over the place. The best thing is, she's never ashamed of it. She thinks it's "cool" to be messy and my parents give her their support, saying that it's her "artistic" side that creates the chaotic living space. Ha! I think she's just really lazy. I'm sad because in less than two months, I will no longer be living in this house. Even before I'll be off to college, my family will be forced to move elsewhere because this house has been sold by the owner. Since my family never buys a home, we've been a nomadic group throughout our stay in the United States. This house, our seventh home in twelve years, has been the longest lasting and I'll be very sad to leave it. The serenity of the neighborhood, the pack of deer in the backyard, my grandma's wonderful garden, the stream that flows when it rains hard, and the mailboxes that resides at the end of the block; all will be missed. My house has taught me that a happy home isn't dependent on its size or glamor, but on the trivial, sentimental aspects that add up to a deep attachment that's hard to let go.
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