Home is a place where you feel at peace, a place to return to during your most vulnerable moments.
As a child, I would love a place where I could call home. But that place never came to me. You see I won't lie I was indeed a little mischievous child. After all, I was left alone, surrounded by people who wouldn't look my way. I cry...
Mischievously I did many things just to make them notice me. Would they finally look at me? Would they hold me and tell me they were proud? Would they play with me, even if just for a little while? I promised I would be good.
Yet, I always seemed to be forgotten. Did I behave badly today? But hey, I got a good grade! I tried my best. I often wished my mom and dad were here—would things be different then? Would I also receive a hug and a kiss? It's okay, I'm a mature child anyway. Still, I couldn't help but wait eagerly for their call. Were they busy today? When would they call? I wanted to tell them how my day went.
As each day passed, their faces began to fade from my memory, I'm scared. I wish I had someone to play with. I'm feeling kinda lonely. No one at school wants to play with me; I feel excluded from the rest. Was it my fault? Maybe I shouldn't have told the truth to my teachers about what happened in class, but how could I lie? Wasn't lying wrong? Everyone knew I couldn't lie—I just didn't know how. But now no one wants to talk to me.
At lunch time I watched them play and I can't deny that it hurts a bit. I wanted to join them so badly, but they seemed to hate me. Lunch time isn't my favorite; the food didn't taste like back home. Mom, I miss you. Please take me with you.