Home is in the Heart

When someone asks where my house is I say, “just past the market, the one with trees surrounding it.” They often give a pitied look and say, “that one, the one with the dead trees and no electricity.” I smile and say yes. One day I hope someone will ask where my home is. They will not send me a sad smile and sad eyes. They will ask and I will reply with, “my home is with my younger sister who hogs the toy horse my mother bought as a gift for us. The one that used up to much of the money we needed for food that month. The gift that made our parents eat less so we could be happy. My home is my parents who are quite literally the definition of love. My mom who always hums while she cooks and holds my sister and I while she mixes ingredients. My father, who was working on the outside of the house, came in just to kiss my mother on the forehead and hug us before sneaking a piece of food to eat, causing us all to 

giggle as he made funny faces and put a finger to his lips.” This is my home, not the dead trees or the one past the market, that is my house. No my home is my family, my home is love.

My Best friend

Usually best friends are someone who you are not related to. But “usually” is just another word for normal and basic, and what’s the fun in that. My best friend is my sister, Dunja. It has always been this way, we match outfits, we play all day outside until our feet are tired and have the time of our lives. So it was weird when we were approached by Sara.  She had a braid barely reaching past her neck with a thick purple headband that was pushed a little too far back to stop her bangs from falling back into place. She had to be a year younger than me, her two front teeth missing and being a few inches smaller than me. She came with a peace offering, a doll she said we could all share. So we gladly took her into our friendship. “Where’d you get it?” asked Dunja. “One of my sisters gave it to me. She says she is told old for these kinds of things.” Dunja turned to me and asked, “will you ever give me your toys when you are too 

old?” I replied, “we already share and I will never get too old for it.” The small girl laughed and said, “my name is Sara.” And just like that we had adopted a new best friend to play with outside until our feet gave out with the sun and as the night approached,and mothers calling us inside for supper.