My life first started in Quincy, Massachusetts where the sea smelt amazing to those who lived there and horrific to those who didn’t. Living by the water was supposed to give me an appreciation for the way it smelt, but it never did. But, as my Dad drives by the ocean he rolls down his windows and sniffs in the “amazing” smell of those dirty socks. However, I roll up the windows and don’t breath until I drive into the safety zone. This lack of love for this awful smell is the reason I don’t believe Quincy is my home. I should love my home in all aspects but Quincy, that smell is something I can’t love.
Quincy being the southern suburb of Boston leaves the roads always packed bumper to bumper, each car making sure there is no room for the next car to breath. Not only are the noises of the cars annoying with their roaring engines, but the noises that come from those people in the cars are the worst. The twenty four year old man abusively honking his horn at the grandma who’s driving fine, but since she’s an old lady he thinks she’s driving too slow for him and honks the horn anyway. Or the drivers who just yells at the other drivers in front of them because they are pissed off, even though the drivers in front of them can’t fix the situation because everybody’s stuck in traffic. These voices of those angry people are imprinted into my mind shouting “get outta my way” and “move your damm cah”. This lack of love for these ear aching noises is the reason I don’t believe Quincy is my home. I should love my home in all aspects but Quincy, that noise is something I can’t love.
My life continued when I moved to Pomfret, Connecticut where the fields smelt of wonderful manure to those who lived there and disgusting to those who didn’t. Living by farmers fields who used cow manure as fertilization for their new crops was supposed to give you an appreciation for the way it smelt, and it sure had because I never wanted to stop smelling it. Something about driving down the dirt roads, passing the fields, and rolling down your windows to smell that magnificent smell, cow manure, it was the best. The amount of love I have for this smell that most would describe as foul is the reason I believe Pomfret is my home. I should love my home in all aspects and Pomfret, that smell is something I love.
Pomfret being in the top right corner of Connecticut, an hour away from the nearest city left the roads empty. The ability to just cruise down the streets not losing sight of the horizon line because of the flat landscape allowed me to breath. The sounds of the birds, crisp whip of the wind, and the rustling of the leaves on the trees filled my ears. No horns excessively honked, or voices screaming over the sounds of traffic. The amount of love I have for these noises is the reason I believe Pomfret is my home. I should love my home in all aspects and Pomfret, those noises are something I love. Pomfret is my perfect peace, Pomfret is my everything, Pomfret will always be my home.
The essay prompt for this paper was asking the writer to describe What is home? When trying to come up with an idea on how I wanted to portray my home and what it meant to me, I was at a lose. I spent a couple days drafting and trying to write a paper about my home but the day before the paper was due, I scrapped the work I had done and went back to the drawing board to write up the piece “In All Aspects”. I am very proud of this paper as it accurately reflects my feelings and how lost I was when trying to understand what my home was. Though this is a short and sweet paper, I feel that it has a lot of character with all the sensory imagery, and parallel structure.
I remember you read this piece out loud and I really loved it then and I love it just as much reading it. It is really well written and I like the use of repetition at the end of the paragraphs. Really good job, Em!
This is a great piece and second to Logan’s comment I remember this piece. It’s a great piece of writing and as a reader I felt connected as if I was with you during your story. Great Job EM!!