The smell of the freshly painted walls still appear when I first walk through the wooden doors.

I walk in, and underneath my feet is the rug mother always has for every season of the year. A rug having leaves on it, to Santa waving hello, and one with a sunflower. Then each season of rugs repeat again.

When I walk in through the dining area, it reminds me of all the great laughter my family has had. But not all of the memoires was laughter. We have had family meetings around the table, too, which usually had worked out smoothly for us, but there were times when conversations got tense.

But when I look over to the kitchen — oh yes, the kitchen — too many memories in there. Where the cabinets are painted with the color of a golden brown and having a marble counter top. It wasn’t a kitchen to look nice, it was a kitchen for food.

I remember one Thanksgiving day my dad was cooking for the family. All of us kids and grownups were in the living room and as we were in the middle of our conversations, we could see a cloud of black coming from the kitchen. We all ran outside, and as my dad lastly walked out, he was holding the turkey. Burnt as charcoal as could be. Our family burst in laughter, we all couldn’t be mad at him, besides he did tried his best to make the turkey that year. After the endless jokes, we had all gathered in the kitchen and started making our favorite meals. The kitchen was a place for joy and pretending as if each person was a chef.

Although, not only is the kitchen a place for food, so is the living room. My mom loves watching movies. Majority of our time is spent on the couch, playing games and cracking jokes on each other. But my mom and I would always meet up at the end of the day to watch all of our favorite classics and even catch up on all of our favorite TV shows such as Housewives of Atlanta. As much fun as my sister and I would have in the living room, my mom is very careful with my her furniture — from the wooden designs on the side of the coffee table, all the way to the pillow cushions perfectly laid out on the couch.

While sitting down on the smallest couch, across you can see the hallway leading to all the rooms.

Each room is like a story of its own; each with its own personality. With my mom’s exquisite taste in room decorating her room was painted a light brown all the way around with pictures in frames hung in a pattern on her wall.

As for my sister, her room is the color of the sun; yellow. She has posters and dance frames for her inspiration. She has a big imagination, that girl, and with her dance posters and pictures, her room describes who she is.

As for my room, it is classy. The color of my room is the color of the sky, a baby blue. I have a tall desk that stand up next to my wall, and it is a simple color of  just being black and white. But I love it because it is where I do most of my study homework at. And although I don’t have posters like my younger sister, I have my mums hanged, having a remembrance of my friends that made one for me and the nights of the games.

Looking back at the house, it may not be the biggest, but when entering through the doors, it reminds me of the joy I had growing up.