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Homes
My mother always said she wanted a nice home in the country. She wanted to look out the window and see a huge field, not some old neighbor making breakfast in his PJs. I, however, wanted a big house in a city. I wanted two stories, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a huge kitchen for home cooked good old country meals. I wanted people to see my house and think of how well off I was and how happy I must be. But what I didn’t realize is that my home says so much more.
All my mother’s life she just wanted to make others happy and lead a simple, yet impactful life. She wanted to change the world around her to be more accepting and kind. Like my mother’s house, she wanted to go unnoticed by the masses, but once it caught your glanced, you see the little things that decorated it. You saw how much care and love went into making that house look amazing. I’m not saying she was a saint, because what mother is when children stain couches with frosting, or flood the wood floor kitchen with soap and foam to make a water slide, but she took pride in who she was, and she made everything about her useful to her cause.
All my life I felt different. I felt too tall or too fat, or not a good enough singer. I’ve never gone unnoticed, in good or bad lighting. I stand out. I care about others and what they think of me. When I get torn down, I build an even higher wall than before. I line my defenses of sarcasm and insults as ammunition for oncoming invasion. Sometimes I set up traps by making fun of myself before others can do it for me. I want people to like me, and if i’m in the light, I want to get noticed by how happy and nice I am. I want people to like me, that’s my vice. I care too much, though don’t take into account the little details that make me who I am.
I can take notes from the little house in the country. I can learn to take myself into consideration but not let them dominate my actions, and tear down my two story mansion. My mother always got input from everyone, but did she let those comments dictate how she acted? No, she didn’t. I can learn to care more about how I see myself on the inside, and how I want to decorate a smaller house, instead of making it flashy and huge. I can become the little house in the country and be satisfied. I can be more confident. I can be myself. I can be free.
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In my creative writing class, we were asked to write a narrative. I figured the best way to get to know me was to see what type of house I want. It may seem odd not reading the piece yet, but it gives you an inside look into who I am.