February 10, 2014
Most important place that you enjoy as a child
Everything changes, but memories lasts. As a child I also had my favorite place and was my home, the home that I left behind when we moved to this country. My home is located in El Salvador a peaceful quiet place where every afternoon at 4 pm was all noise because of my sisters and I and other kids from our neighborhood. The house was white and burgundy, it had two windows one on each side, the house looked like a face to me, because the windows were the eyes and in the center the door which to me was the mouth of the house. Even though I no longer live there I miss the ...view middle of the document...
When my dad used to visit me the backyard was my favorite place at night because with him the night was just perfect him and I in a hammock looking up to the sky full of stars and talking about things related to my school and things related to what he does whenever he did not come to visit me. The backyard also is the place where I used to run to in order to recalled his presence, I wanted to see him but he was not there and just by thinking of him it made me wanted to be in the hammock and swinging it until I felt like flying up to him. Whenever I had a project from school my classmates would which house we will be meeting I always offered my house because I enjoyed being in my house mostly my backyard, when we were done with our project first thing we did was to play, laugh, and enjoy our time together before they returned to their houses. If I could go back and relieve some of these memories, I would choose those nights I spent with my father. Regardless I am away from home it always will be in my heart, no matter time passes the place is the most memorable and embraceful of my life.
My bedroom is my sanctuary because it was the only place we can truly escape from reality. In that house another place I can think of is my bedroom; it is the heaven where I grew up, the place that my sisters and I shared happiness, joy, even tears. Anyone was not able to see the unique that the bedroom was to me, all they could see was the bed topped with a blanket and a soft and comfy pillow, a small sofa a box filled with a lot of dolls. Even so, thinking of my bedroom brings back good and bad memories, I still can smell the camomile scent that my mother used to put in our room, on days I feel depressed I go to my bed closed my eyes and travel back to my used to be bedroom and it brings me memories. I remember those days where I felt down with no energy and did not wanted to play in my beloved backyar, I just run to my bed throwing myself into it and putting my covers up to my face and my only comfor was my pillow, my pillow was the one wiping out my tears without getting annoyed, that pillow that knew every secret of mine since the day I went to live with my mom. Since that pillow became mine it was it and my bed that were the one that felt that I could trust of the most. I loved to sit in between those four walls to think whatever came to my mind, either it was something sad or happy I just enjoyed being there until my playful sisters, who enjoyed to played or even annoyed whenever I felt the way or knew that I was missing my dad, all they did was just do whatever like telling every joke they knew just to cheer me up. Prior to them being present in my bedroom, our bedroom did nothing but to build up more unforgettable memories that took place there in my bedroom and in that house. Even if visitors might not consider my room as a special place that is because they have not being in there, but to me my bedroom was my utopia, the place where I could laugh...