Home is where you live. It could be a suburban ranch house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two great yards front and back, and a spotless, gleaming white picket fence. Perhaps it could be a modern apartment on the 7th floor, or a luxury condominium penthouse for two, or a house as small as a shed, or a townhouse three stories tall, or a large family-owned ranch somewhere in the Midwest.

Home is your family. Whether it be your parents, your siblings, your cousins, your aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers, or a whole host of other relatives you might have never met; all of them are part of the home that is family, no matter how large or small.

Home is your friends, both then and now: Those who stay, those who come and go like the wind, those whom you only ever meet once. It does not matter whether you know them from school, work, online, at the grocery store, or simply by chance. They may not be your kin, but sometimes the bonds of friendship run deeper than those of blood.

Home is your country. That body of land upon which you are situated, where you form roots, reaching deep into the soil and holding firm. Even if one uproots, and moves away to another land, some of those roots will remain, waiting for their spot to be filled once more.

Home is yourself. Wherever you are, whether with friends, with family, by yourself, at work, or at school, you are always home. No matter who you are, or what you do. Home does not depend on house, on blood, on friends, school, job, city, or country. 

Home is the one thing that unites us all. 

Home is everyone, and everything.