"Pick a Word, Paint a Story #03"

^{@arjinarahman ©
#Bangladesh 🇧🇩}

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Greetings

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As-salamu Alaikum.
Hello Steemians!
Hope you all are doing great. Today, I’m taking part in an awesome contest in the "Hindwhale Community", organized by @senehasa ma'am .
Here is: Contest Link .
I will pick Home word for this contest.
Let’s begin!

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Home; Where Love Lives

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Village Home

The word "Home" is not a place or a house, It's a feeling. It represents emotions, relationships and where we come from. The home I grew up in was built were solid bricks but there was something. It wasn’t fancy or luxurious, but it was full of peace, love and safety. It become the most precious thing about my childhood.

From morning to night our home atmosphere was very calm and peaceful. My parents worked in a large courtyard front of the home. They sometimes plant flowers in the garden, and those plant became a big deal in our home. We grew small vegetables like chilies, beans, and eggplants. We had a pond behind the house, that was special to us. In the afternoon my friends and I would go there to fish, or sometimes we would swim in the pond. The pond was peaceful. Like the whole world had stopped for a moment, while I was walking by it.

Our best place was on the veranda of our home. In the morning I would sit there with my cup of tea and watch the sunrise. I would sit in the cool breeze and watch birds in the sky. A special feeling which I still hold close is sitting on the veranda with hot tea on rainy days after a cold bath, listening to the sound of rain water.

My father made a small library for us where we all studied. We loved books, and that library became something else to another symbol of "home" for me. My father would tell his stories and my mother would be out in the kitchen cooking, in the evening. Her food was a special blessing. Eating rice with fish curry or tomato sauce was literally the joy of our daily life.

A big part of home was listening to my grandmother’s stories. Sitting with her and hearing her stories at night seemed special somehow. No one was ever alone in our house. We all lived together; we shared everything. This was an invisible love each of us shared.

But life changes. I grew up and moved to city, I saw city life was entirely different from village life. The city had all the modern buildings and busy roads. Besides all the conveniences, I missed the simple and honest life of the village. I realized it wasn’t just a house that was 'home', a feeling.

Every corner of that brick of our home feels familiar and comfortable when I visit the village. When I listen to children playing in the courtyard it sounds so much like it used to be. I still sit, still feel peaceful, and the old pond is still there. Seeing the sky when I sit on the veranda, I feel that I have connected my roots.

That house is 'home' to me. It’s not just a building, it was where we loved each other and looked after each other. The memories of that house live in my heart even while I’m in the busy city. The most valuable memory of my childhood is not a house of bricks, it is 'my home.

I invite following users for the contest
@can.gee
@paopaoza
@thoughtcs