Places of excruciating sadness, grief, and sorrow. However, there are also places that fill my heart with love. They say people make places special. I say special places are built by memories. You can't love a place if you have no memories built there. There is this place that brings a smile to my face just by thinking of it. It is a place where I built a lot of memories along with my family. This place was my first home. A home is a place of comfort not a simple structure that one can live in. Home is a place where you feel safe and loved. It is a place that holds good memories. Home is a place that brings a sigh of relief as you walk through the door.
I remember it was a one-bedroom apartment where I lived with my family. My family consisted of my older brother Henry, my older sister Wendy and my mother Virginia. I was 10 years old at the time. My family and I came to the United States but my mother didn't have a place of her own. Therefore, we were staying in different places all over New York. This was our first home. This apartment was in a three-story building located at the corner of Watson Ave and Evergreen Ave. It had a small garden and green area in front for the kids to play. On the main entrance door was the building's number in bright gold metal numbers that read 1474. Once you entered the premises, to the right were the golden mailboxes where the mailman deposited the mail daily. I lived on the third floor of this walk-up building. .
Once on the third floor, the apartment door was located to the right and had the apartment number brightly displayed above the peephole. There were three apartments per floor. This area felt jammed. There were too many apartments in that little entry area. As soon as you opened the door, you were in the dining room where my mother had a round glass dining table and four leather chairs. I remember, we sat on that table and communicated about important things that had happened throughout the week over a three-course meal my mother made every Sunday.