Home free essay sample

She was a fortress the way she stood each day, as I returned from school, basking in the blood-red light of sundown. Her face was always turned toward me as she would let me in from the cold world, still keeping watch as I entered into her safety. She used to be a young protector. Now I wake up at night to hear her bones aching in the floorboards, and her body shaking in the window panes from the cold night winds. She will notice that I am awake and hush me back to bed. She is growing old, and I am noticing this each day.She has watched me age year after year.I have measured my height with pencil marks on her kitchen wall. I have played hide and seek in her boxwoods. I have looked out at the rising sun and moon with her each morning and night without saying a word. We will write a custom essay sample on Home or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page She wished me luck on my way to school each day and asked how it went when I came back. She always was the first to hear a poem of mine, a speech, an essay, silently nodding. She listened to me speak my mind, my memories of the congressional page program or my lines of Macbeth, and looked at my drawings and listened to my guitar playing. During winter nights, her fire would warm me, and during summer nights she would lull me to bed with the pitter-patter of rain on her roof, and now, 17 years later, she is still my protector, but slowly she is fading.Her paint is falling from her body like leaves from a tree. Father paints her back to her white sheen again, but every time it takes more paint. Every time it takes more work. When Irene came, she leaned farther than she did when Katrina visited. She was ready for Katrina and faced her fearlessly, but Irene made her stumble a bit, and we noticed. Each year her problems grew. It was harder for her to keep us warm like she had in past winters. Cold winds blew more easily through her, and humid summer air was harder for her to dispel. The elements sensed her weakness and each night blew harder at her door. More and more we see new fortresses sprout from the ground like weeds. They are younger than she is and stronger too. I am worried for her in this fast moving world. Soon she will lose me like she lost my sister. I have promised her that I will return, and that I will never give her up to someone else. I promise that I will become successful and bring her back to her prime. She smiles and hushes me to bed. Soon I will leave her, a symbol of my life thus far. But everything up to this point has been building to this moment, my departure from her, my home. She has been preparing me for this moment. Part of me says that this was bound to happen once I came of age and prepared to start my life on my own. In the end, she was a part of my life, a skin that I was going to shed. I understand now. Her responsibility was ending, and with that, she was too. I will be letting go, and while I will miss her once I am gone, it is what she wants for me. She raised me. With caring arms she held me tight the day I was born, rocking me in her cradle. I look to the coming years with hope that each time I see her again she will see the progress I have made and the man that I have become. As I pack my bags for the next phase of my life, she will be waiting for me to visit her every now and again. Home free essay sample As a baggage handler tossed a suitcase on the plane, another passenger threw it off again to make room for his piece of luggage. With tensions rising, the crowd around the small plane pushed and shoved, shouting in French and Swahili. Finally, the fighting ended as every possible piece of luggage was crammed in the interior of the plane. It was time to board. My family and I had arrived at the airport, called Kavumu, early in the morning, not knowing when our plane would be ready to fly. Kavumu had one runway, about six small commercial planes, a few UN helicopters, and a lot of Congolese soldiers. The airplanes were two-ton Russian Antonovs, piloted by Russian pilots on six-month shifts to Congo. Speaking only Russian, the pilots could not communicate with anyone at the airport. There was no waiting room, so my family and I sat outside on our luggage, shielding our faces from the dust that each plane raised as it taxied onto the runway. We will write a custom essay sample on Home or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page We waited five or six hours for our airplane to come in from another village. Once our plane had been loaded and the crowd around it subsided, I looked up into the plane. Baggage reached the ceiling of the small plane, not secured in any way. The loaders had left a space the size of a small closet for my family and two other passengers to sit, not on seats with safety belts, but on boxes and luggage. We hoped the unsecured luggage wouldnt come crashing down on us. An hour later we landed in the village of Kipaka and felt a blast of jungle heat. Workers tossed our luggage out onto the grass airstrip. I stepped out of the plane to witness a crowd waving in welcome. Our church choir stood in the grass singing a welcome song in Swahili, accompanied by a wooden drum. A line of church elders stood waiting to shake our hands, beaming through the rivulets of sweat dripping down their faces. Jumping and exclaiming, village children gawked at us and the plane that had brought us. Incongruous to most of the world, the air service fit right in with Congo and the people it connected. The Western idea of â€Å"safety first† is far away in Congo, a place where most parents lose at least two of their children at a young age. Death is imminent, and dangers in the air do not seem significant because all of life is risky. A Westerner might wonder at the lack of seats or a waiting room, but a Congolese would not think twice. With survival as the focus, comfort is unlooked for and falls low on the priority list for people who struggle for daily food. The pushing and shoving seem bewildering until one considers the personal nature of the Congolese world compared to the Western world. The West follows the absolute law of the airport. Baggage allowances are final, and no amount of pleading changes that for anyone. In Congo, no rule is absolute, and exceptions are made on an individual basis. Each passenger tries until the very last moment, hoping someone might allow his luggage on board on a whim. My life leads me to stand in the middle, understanding both worlds but belonging to neither. I am neither Congolese nor Western, but standing on that airstrip, I was home Home free essay sample Trees gently sway in the wind. Leaves underneath me crunch while I wander deeper into the waking forest. The cold air kisses my bare cheek, leaving me with goosebumps and a runny nose. Throughout my walk on the trail, clumps of small, pastel, purple flowers welcome me. I notice that the trees are grouped into families. Long skinny trees, about as tall as a mast’s sail, stand together. They are nude with their coffee colored leaves in mounds on the ground. Gigantic pines line up in far reaching-columns, bare except for the needle-capped tops. Roots, deep in the ground, claim their home. After wandering the path for a good distance, I stumble upon a lake. Sitting on its bay, I am secluded. The ground is still damp from the night’s dew rendering my bottom unpleasantly wet. The lake is calmly waving hello to me with slow ripples. A descended pine tree is to my left. We will write a custom essay sample on Home or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page Slowly decaying, it is covered only by a few pine cones and browning needles. The tree looks comfortable, stretched out on the soft earth. Another tree is on my right, still decorated with pine cones, but slowly decaying. The tree was recently introduced to the horizontal life. Both trees seem so content and at home. The season around me is changing. Leaves painted in greens start to burst into warm colors of reds, yellows, and speckled golds. Some flutter softly to the forest floor. The rising sun, north of me, is even more bright and colorful than the changing leaves. Nesting in my spot, the once disrupted nature is calming. A few small songbirds in the distance are fighting to perch on branches soaked in the warmth of the sun. Some of the birds are still waking and singing their lovely morning songs. Others are scurrying around, busy collecting materials to construct their homes for the winter. A large bird with wings spread across the lake catches my attention. He is illuminated by the strong beams of the sun while gliding across the calm waters. Valiantly, he dives down, aiming for a fish. He misses, instead making a giant ripple across the tame lake. The birds belong in nature. They give the forest songs of love and busy work, creating both chaos and harmony. A small chatty chipmunk rustles the leaves on the ground while scattering to the large jack pine that sits to my left. He effortlessly makes his way to the highest peak of the fallen tree and glares at me. The chipmunk lets out a high pitched screech, furiously shaking his entire self. I look closer, realizing he is angry with me. I am in his home. His black eyes connect with mine one last time before he leaps off the tree. After zigzagging around like a mad man, he settles for a tree by the lake with long branches. Everything belongs. Hand in hand, we are both laughing. His smile is so comforting and familiar. The warm, contagious laugh that could put a grin on even the grumpiest of faces. He looks at me with his endlessly deep blue eyes, and says â€Å"I love you†. We’re driving down the curvy road to my house with leaves being whisked into the air as we pass by, admiring the colors of autumn. I notice the deep green color of the pine trees which reminds me that I may not have physical roots that keep me connected, but I do have memories. This is home to me. As I walk down the trail back, I realized every single thing belongs here. I say goodbye to the families of trees, as they wave the few leaves they have left. The songs of the birds start to become distant. Everything continues with their busy days’ work, as I head back home.