i didnt wanna put this in my other thread so im here now (': but for my schools speech and debate team i had to write a 5-10 minute speech that i will then memorize and then compete. soo this is like my 3rd draft, and yk i'm ok with it for now (': the theme or topic or whatever is the idea that home isnt a physical place. nobody has to read it, but if u do n have any feedback that would be great bc i have to compete it (':
@axtyn @olivetree1728 @amiablebunny4016 @darkerplaces @avyisking @birdking449
Imagine your house. Is it big, small? Tall or short? Is it white, gray or tan? Think about every single small detail that makes your house yours. The sturdy, shady, shimmering oak tree in your front yard, the long cobblestone walkway into your warm welcoming house, the bent and broken basketball hoop in the driveway. Picture it all. Now, I want you to imagine your home. What comes to mind? The same house with the oak tree or the basketball hoop or is it a new picture? When most people think of home, they envision a physical structure, commonly the one that they were raised in, or have spent the most time in. One that they know very well, or one they just moved into after hard times. One that seems to give them that feeling of home that many seek to find. What is home? If you were to look into a dictionary you would find this definition. “Home. noun. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.” However, someone who has had a good home could argue otherwise. The word home goes so far past the concrete assumptions that many people make about it, and is filled with values that most people can’t put into words.
We are what makes our home ours. Home isn’t a structure, it's a feeling. A feeling of love, comfort and safety. The importance of old memories, stories that go with you everywhere you go and people that make life worthwhile. We ourselves house that feeling. Along with all the harder feelings like anger, sadness and most of all, happiness, we also have the ability to feel what home really is. You can’t be put into a place and be forced to feel like it is your home. Home is wherever you make it. Home could be anywhere in the world, anywhere you’re at peace. Home is where we can dare to be our own selves, at our very best, all the time. Where you can speak your truth, without fear of being shunned for doing so.
Over the last 5 years of going and returning from the place I know I can always call my home, I’ve learned that home isn’t physical. It isn’t 4 walls and a roof, it isn’t an apartment complex or a condo. Not a place you go on the weekends or the family house being passed down for generations. Home can be a sunset while sitting on the beach feeling every emotion possible with people you love. Home is a long, warm, tight hug holding together the bits and pieces of your life when you can’t bear to hold it together by yourself for much longer. Home is friendships made, even friendships lost. Friendships that year by year feel like they could last a lifetime. The people that care for us through our brightest and darkest moments and most of all, the people that make you feel loved no matter how you show up. When I am with my people, I am home.
When one is stuck in uncomfortable or unfamiliar situations, they might find themselves reaching for bits and pieces of what they associate most with their home. Reaching out just to grasp onto a memory of what they once had, just for a minute. Just to feel at home like they once did, longing to be brought back to where they felt at home. They might find themselves looking for the specific taste of their great grandma's chicken soup that was always made for them when they were sick or the sweet melody of a song that can instantly bring them back to their home. They might even be looking for the smell of their late dads cologne that he always wore to fancy events. Home is memories triggered by bits and pieces of growing up.
Since I come and go from home so frequently, I often find myself longing to go back. Recently though, I’ve realized that it wasn’t the physical place I was coming and going from that I missed so much, it was the people I only got to see every 11 months that I missed most of all. It was the act of just being where I was and feeling what I was feeling with those people. It was sunsets on a log in the middle of the woods and screaming songs while canoeing late into the evening. It wasn’t the cabins or the common areas, it was the singing and dancing wherever we were. It was the connections with people that I know could and will last for years even after leaving.
Home is a reminder of all the good in the world. Home is where you can live and thrive, not just survive, not going through the motions day by day. Home is something that gives you the energy to keep pushing through, even though you know the long journey ahead won’t be easy .Home is knowing no matter what happens, you have something or someone to fall to. Someone that makes you feel safe and loved, something that reminds you of everything amazing you could do when you grow old. Home is reassurance that you will be ok. That everything will be ok.
I want you to imagine your home. What comes to mind now? Is it the sturdy shady shimmering oak tree or is it the broken down tire swing attached to the lowest branch, where you and your sister spent days in the sun swinging around. Is it the bent and broken basketball hoop, or is it rather the memory of shooting baskets with your dad in his cologne before a work event.
@mysteriousClover
jeez emma
this is
amazing
Thats amazin like fr that made me think about stuff about "home" thats gona b an awesum speech
@mysteriousClover
this is beautiful clover and you have described it so nicely! It couldnt have been put any better! Thank you so much for sharing with me. This was so heartwarming and lovely to read!
@mysteriousClover
That’s so lovely and well-written, Emma! 💕 I really enjoyed reading this piece :3 Its meaningful message and vivid descriptions make it a powerful speech 💛 Well done!
@astraeuss @dinosaurblitz
@mysteriousClover
emma this is so good!!! (cups is my home <3)
changed up a little bit of it. mostly the same but this is the final.
Imagine your house. Is it big, small? Tall or short? Is it white, gray, tan or maybe it’s another color. Think about every single small detail that makes your house yours. The sturdy, shady, shimmering oak tree in your front yard, the long cobblestone walkway into your warm welcoming house, the bent and broken basketball hoop in the driveway. Picture it all. Now, I want you to imagine your home. What comes to mind? You might think back to the oak tree or the basketball hoop, but is that really what makes your home yours?
If you were to look into a dictionary you would find this definition. “Home. noun. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.” Think about the common expressions “Home sweet home” and “There’s no place like home.” These expressions indicate that home is a desirable place that exists in our heads as a physical space. When most people think of home, they envision a physical structure, commonly the one that they were raised in, have spent the most time in, one that they just know very well or a structure that signifies new beginnings or the start of a family.
Nowadays, when you go and buy a house to start a family, you might find that every house built has to one up the next, until the houses created have reached new highs that people haven’t seen before. When looking to purchase houses in neighborhoods that are continuously one upping the house previous, one typically will try to buy *the* house. Everyone wants the “5 bedroom 7 bathroom 2.9 million dollar house,” but what good does it give? Yes, by doing this they typically feel a false sense of satisfaction and want to appear more wealthy than others. They want their life to look put together, and want others' opinions of them to be high. Everyone wants a perfect house to call their home, although they don’t typically understand that the true meaning of home goes so much deeper than the physical appearance.
Someone who has had a connection to their home could argue that the word home goes so far past the concrete definitions created by most. We are what makes our home ours. Home isn’t a structure, it's a feeling. A feeling of love, comfort and safety. The importance of old memories and stories that follow with us throughout our lives, containing the people that make life worthwhile and we ourselves house that feeling. We are what make our house home. Home is wherever you make it. Home could be anywhere in the world, anywhere you’re at peace. Home is where we can dare to be our own selves, at our very best, all the time, no matter if you’re in the middle of the woods with your closest friends or sitting in the windowsill with the company of yourself, embracing the beauty of the world around you and the calm it brings. It’s where you can speak your truth, without fear of being shunned for doing so. Home doesn’t have to be the families we are born into, more of those that we create for ourselves through experiences that bring the memories that last a lifetime.
Over the last 5 years of going and returning from the place I know I can always call my home, I’ve learned that home isn’t physical. It isn't 4 walls and a roof, not an apartment complex or a condo. Not a place you go on the weekends or the family house being passed down for generations. I’ve realized that it wasn’t the physical place I was coming and going from that I missed so much, it was the people I only got to see every 11 months that I missed most of all. It was the act of just being where I was and feeling what I was feeling with those people. It was bonding with my friends while sitting and watching the sunset after a long day and screaming songs while canoeing late into the evening. It wasn’t the cabins or the common areas, it was the singing and dancing wherever we were. It was the connections with people that I know could and will last for years even after leaving. Home can be sitting with the people that mean the most to you, feeling every emotion possible while sitting and watching the sun set into the horizon of Lake Michigan. Home is a long, warm, tight hug holding together the bits and pieces of your life when you can’t bear to hold it together by yourself for much longer. Home is friendships made, even friendships lost. Friendships that year by year feel like they could last a lifetime. The people that care for us through our brightest and darkest moments and most of all, the people that make you feel loved no matter how you show up. When I am with my people, I am home.
When one is stuck in uncomfortable or unfamiliar situations, they might find themselves reaching for bits and pieces of what they associate most with their home. Reaching out just to grasp onto a memory of what they once had, even just for a minute. Just to feel at home like they once did, longing to be brought back to where they felt at home. They might find themselves looking for the specific taste of their great grandma's chicken soup that was always made for them when they were sick or the sweet melody of a song that can instantly bring them back. They might even be looking for the smell of their late dads cologne that he always wore to fancy events. Home is memories triggered by bits and pieces of growing up.
Home is a reminder of all the good in the world. Home is where you can live and thrive, not just survive, not going through the motions day by day. Home is something that gives you the energy to keep pushing through, even though you know the long journey ahead won’t be easy. Home is knowing no matter what happens, you have something or someone to fall to. Someone that makes you feel safe and loved, something that reminds you of everything amazing you could do when you grow old. Home is reassurance that you will be ok. That everything will be ok.
I want you to imagine your home. What comes to mind now? Is it the sturdy shady shimmering oak tree or is it the broken down tire swing attached to the lowest branch, where you and your sister spent days in the sun swinging around. Is it the bent and broken basketball hoop, or is it rather the memory of shooting baskets with your dad in his cologne before a work event.