Goguen 1
Evangeline Goguen
Professor Laurie Cooper
English 1041
15 October 2013 Is My House My Home?
For as long as I can remember I’ve lived in the same 100 year old house. It was the place where I experienced so many firsts: my first play date, my first sleepover, my first kiss, and my first heartbreak. I never thought I’d be excited to leave, but as the years passed, that house didn’t feel like home anymore.
The house sat on 5 acres of land; I had a view of the field in the backyard from my bedroom window. I would sit and stare at the long grass, as the wind would make it dance. The front flowerbeds were always weeded no matter how much it hurt my mother’s back. The pain was worth it to see the vibrant colors of spring’s first bloom. In the backyard, an old mice-infested barn that sat there uselessly was converted into a cottage. It was like a home away from home.
Moving on to the inside of the house, through that annoying door that never closed properly, there was the kitchen. The yellow walls made the place seem cheerful and the cherry wood cabinets added some warmth. There was no dinning room; there was simply an eat-in kitchen. Many dinners, few that were satisfying, have been served on that glass top table. On the other side of the kitchen, two rocking chairs facing each other were placed beside the window. We were a family of three so it was a race to see who would have to pull up an extra chair. I always lost since I was the child. We had countless conversations about life and love whilst rocking in those chairs. Moving into the living room, that place was my favorite before I bought a computer. I was so addicted to the television that my parents would have to drag me out of there to eat supper. Before we got a new leather couch, we had to sit on an atrocious 90’s inspired plaid couch. The walls were light brown and decorated with nettle point tapestries that my grandmother made.
The last room I want to mention is my own. The walls have been layered with numerous paint colors representing phases of my life. The last color I chose was lime; it had been my favorite color for years. I liked the way it made my room glow day and night. As if the walls weren’t bright enough, one full wall was covered in a royal blue built-in cabinets and desk. The desk is where I spent most of high school doing piles of homework. Next to the desk there was a window seat that gazed upon the field. That place was meant for reading, thinking, and mountains of clean clothes. The paint-chipped window was so ancient that I thought I might die from mold poisoning. My soft double bed, dressed in a lime comforter, was place in the middle of the room. It eventually became my new place to watch TV when I got a computer. My room is where I spent most of my teenage years. In fact, if those walls could talk they would have a great deal to say.
I’ve always found my house to be quite beautiful and full of character, but now I know that “character” can be pricy. As the 100-year-old house started to decay, my parent’s 30-year marriage followed. The house filled with tension every time they fought and the financial strain added more stress and conflict to the atmosphere. Finally this past summer, my mom decided she had enough and moved out. The house felt empty without her, but when university started I joined her in her new apartment. We brought parts of the house with us and made it our new home. This past weekend, I stayed with my dad at my previous house. I hated it. The water pressure was frustratingly low, because of the well. The house was cold because the heater was broken. The flowers beds were overgrown with weeds. My old bed didn’t feel as comfortable as I remembered it to be. The walls were missing decorations. For some reason I resent that house now; it only reminds me of the sadness I felt living there. I don’t understand why my dad won’t let go of that house, it’s nothing but work. Perhaps it’s because he chooses to remember the good memories.
Though that house is not my home anymore, all my memories and experiences are still stored in the walls. I might like to forget some of them, but they have shaped who I am today. Our family may have split but the house is still standing. And eventually it will accompany a new family that will experience their highs and lows as well.