Each nook, cranny, and creak in the steps has made me who I am.

It took me being away from my home (for the better part of a few years) to really appreciate everything it embodies. Whenever I get to go back to my hometown for breaks and summer, crossing that city line feels like a breath of fresh air. It's a sigh of relief to my system. I'm finally heading back to comfort, family, and history.

Every home is a timeline that tells a beautiful story. When you walk up to my door, you can spot the various little garden statues I got my mom for special occasions over the years. When I was younger, I didn't think she could have too many, so I just kept getting them (Sorry Mom! I could've probably been more creative...). The door itself has been painted, but still maintains its original wooden finish that I've walked past every day. There's a bookshelf we used to play hide-and-seek behind, and now my nephews and niece use it the same way. It's a story that just keeps going and branching off.

It's not only the furniture and the building itself that make me nostalgic, though. It's the sounds, the smells, the atmosphere, and the people.

My home is a composition. My parents are musicians and growing up there was constantly music playing - whether it was from a radio, my mom's choir, or my dad's guitar. Every time I go back through the door and hear music still playing, I'm reassured that I'm safe and loved.

My home is the smell of sawdust from my brother's latest project, and my dad's coffee early in the morning. There was always something new happening when I was growing up, especially since my brother always had a new idea up his sleeve. Despite the variety of projects, such as a half-pipe, a bowling lane, or an entire wiffleball field, some things just remained constant. The noises have without a doubt always been there.

My home is the sound of rush-hour. The cars racing by have always been there, day to night. The sound of the front door opening and closing is seemingly a never-ending cycle, as one of my five siblings is always going in and out. I am always surrounded by laughter, fighting, the creaks of the wood floors, running feet, and exciting conversation - everything that comes with the love of a family.

My home is the warmth of my mom's hug when she tried to soothe my broken heart in high school. It is the chatter of my strong-willed and productive sisters making plans. My home is the sound one brother messing around with every instrument he sees, and the other sitting in the kitchen watching a football game. It is the excitement of my dad arriving home from work every day.

My home is my family, ever-changing and ever-growing, each new in-law and nephew or niece a welcome addition. We went from being the little guys and girls to the grown-ups, and my siblings have brought a new generation into the house. It is chaos, learning, and little moments.

My home is everything. It has contributed to who I was, who I am, and who I will be someday. It extends kindness, love, and comfort to me, even from a distance. It has healed my broken pieces over time with new memories and friendships, and has encouraged me to push my boundaries and reach for my dreams.

I will always appreciate and cherish every single inch of the place I call home.