A Home that I Can Point To
We are moving once again. The new place is barely down the street, but we have to move again. This is the fifth time in six years that I have moved from one apartment to another. Im glad we are finally moving out of the old apartment, because the guy below us constantly banged on his ceiling when I walked from one room to another. Its been awhile since I have had a place to call home, a place I can grow fond of. I have hope that one day we will live in a house and not have to worry about cranky neighbors or stairs to climb before I reach my front door.
As I read the short piece from Sandra Cisneross, The House On Mango Street, I began to appreciate everything that I had in life. The story is narrated through the thoughts and emotions of a young girl whose family lives in poverty and struggles to find a decent place to live. The message that Cisneros tries to convey to her readers is that those who have plenty in life must realize that there are people who struggle every day and work hard in order to survive, and they too have dreams and goals of one day living an adequate life. People who have such elaborate homes or even simple homes always want more, never understanding the value of what they have. Once I read the story, I came to terms with what life is like for those who hardly have means of getting water. I have gained more respect for those who struggle, but still make an effort to ameliorate their situation. From my experience, I can relate to her need for a solid ground, but when it comes to the difficulty of living in poverty, I can only learn to be grateful for what I have.
The oldest home that I can remember is an apartment my mother, stepfather, and I lived in. The building was old and lifeless. The roof was a dark brown; the building itself was light beige, and the balconies were painted green. The inside of the apartment was nothing special. Brown carpeting and peered off tiles made it feel dead. The loud noise of the freeway right next door vibrated our home from time to time and prevented us from keeping our doors open. From our balcony view all you could see was the freeway and the tag writing on the neighbors fences.
I knew this place was not the greatest, but it was better than what we previously had. My mother always knew how to make the best of things, so she and my stepfather decided to refurbish the entire apartment. The best part about it was that we did it with our very own hands. Everything was perfect. The tiles by the door, kitchen, and dining room were white with a splash of peach and gray. The granite stone on the kitchen counter top matched perfectly with the tiles. The carpet and couches were replaced to make the place look brighter and full of life. The wood on the wall touching only the living room was also replaced with glass to make the room look and feel larger than it actually was. The rooms were nicely decorated with the same granite, tile, and carpet. My room was...