Walking around, looking about at the empty room, the room that I handpicked when we moved in when I was four, and walked down the stairs that I had ran up and down more than a million times, and looked at the living room where I had laughed with my family and friends, walked down the hallway, the same one I had walked down when going to my first homecoming and even the front porch in which I had walked down so many, times realizing that this would be one of the last times I would see this place for a while. I would miss this building a lot. The memories I had living in this home, this home where I was raised. I would miss running out to my mom when she got home from work, waiting for the biggest hug in the world, and coming home with my dad; him and I getting our afternoon snacks and playing video games, playing kitchen with my sister and fighting over who would get to serve my dad, or all of the family dinners full of laughter and even some belching. These memories were some for the ages. My family so full of love and commitment, but also the tough moments that come with being a family. The long nights where I was begging and crying to my parents to let me go to the party, or the yelling fights we had about the smallest things, or the heartbreak caused from the mean kids at school. All of this only brought us closer together the hugs consoling each other through the hard times, forgiveness, something I experienced over and over again, but most important the idea of family. The idea of family extended to anyone who came over, they were instantly family. This house was where I had my first sleepovers, doing awful makeup and sitting up late eating junk food, the study sessions with my friends in my room which then turned into much laughing and talks about our futures, the messes in the kitchen we left after failed baking projects, the screams and laughter that we had played through my head as I looked around. This house had raised me and helped me grow. But was it truly this house that had done that? All the memories rushed back to me, what made this house a home was not the structure at all, it was the people who came in and out of it who were my family. The love and support they constantly showed me will always resonate with me, this was the place that I was safe to be myself, to dance around crazily, sing at the top of my lungs, and love life to the fullest with the people I loved. This was the place I could always be myself and I could never forget that what made this place home was always my family and friends.