Picture a house. Any house will do. You likely thought of a dwelling or structure of some sort, no matter how large or small. Now picture a home. Though the two terms are usually considered interchangeable, they also represent a discrepancy in connotation. A house is where one lives. Home is the place where one feels most safe and comfortable. For myself, however, they are one and the same. As I am not overly ambitious or outgoing, it should not come as a surprise to one that I feel most content in my own home. I have been fortunate enough to experience the entirety of my childhood living in a single house. This was the place where I took my first steps and learned to talk. This was where I had my birthday parties, attendees changing year after year as time flew by, and where those around me watched as I grew both in height and as a person. Through all this change, two things remained constant: my home and my family. Though I sometimes took them for granted, these two things I cherished above all. My mother and father, along with my sister and brother, among whom I am the youngest, made up the household. All was perfect. My brother moved out for college when I was just six years old. I was young, so all was still great as I lived with much naïve disregard to this change. For the next ten years, I grew up with my sister, Laura. We always supported each other and stuck together in times of need. The only thing that would ever come between us was time. Laura is two years older than me, so in a matter of time, she had to leave for college as well. Just like that, my best friend for the first 16 years of my life was gone, off to a place far away. Just like that, home seemed a little more empty, and sometimes I still stop and think of the memories it holds of us, seemingly infinite moments together, most taking place in the same place we called home. I wish my brain would allow me to remember them all. Just months later, my parents started to have difficulties, and not long after Laura's departure, my mother too had moved out. She did not move far, but far enough that I no longer was to see her every day. So now, only two of the family remained at home, my father and me. Over time, those who had made home so special to me had been removed from it, but the memories I made with them in that house will never leave me. Soon enough, time will force me to leave home myself and venture into the unknown. Even so, I am saddened to think of the house being sold in the future, as it will always be the place where I feel at home. I fear that a man can live without a house, but he cannot live without a home. I need my home.