Analysis Of Home, My Sweet Home

Home, My Sweet Home
I don’t know the meaning of the word “ordinary”. Ordinary. Some regard mundane as dull, but some do not. I love uniqueness, but also love commonness. I believe that there is a bountiful criterion for “ordinary”. I thought my life was quotidian, before I faced a new life with a new family. My life was quite different with them, but their life was normal, too. After all this happened, I pondered about the definition of “ordinary” and the “ordinary” life. I was just an audacious girl who left everything back at home. Traveling 16 hours on the plane made all my muscles stiff. Especially, the ride from San Francisco to Boise was the most torturing one, not only boring but also suffocating. The cold air froze my feet. My body
I thought it should be “city of potatoes”, because I heard that about sixty percent of potatoes came from Idaho. Then I met Wilkinson family, who host me as a daughter, in the picture. Lovely mom, trustworthy dad, playful older brother, bashful younger brother, and yellow Nissan truck. That was the very beginning I met my new family. Everything was absolutely novel: the scenery through the car windows during the way home, such as a stark plain with dusty bowls, a village with houses wearing a same uniform looked like students at GA, a road had not many cars, no traffic jam, all the English sign on the street, and the buildings which were fat rather than tall with a roomy parking lot. I never saw those in a real life before. I always had a dream of ideal house that was a two-story house and had well-mowed front and back yards with dogs. Because I lived in an apartment, which I never considered as a house, for more than ten years. The façade of the house was exactly consistent with my imagination: three windows, and garage door, which looked like chocolate, same height of lawn, three lollipops like trees, and one Chokosogi like a tree. At that time, I was Gretel in Grimm’s story, Hänsel and Gretel, who just find the cookies house in the deep dark forest, but there was the warmhearted family rather than a witch. It came to me as genial daydream. I was hard to believe that I was in
But also the atmosphere of the house distinguished from the other houses. It was embracing everything, even me, so I could show my sincere inner side. The house encompassed all the singularities and didn’t require any conditions to stay there. My sweet little home allowed me to know and to be definitely myself. There were no monsters that encourage me to efface and shape myself to fit into the world. I didn’t have to go the extra mile for outsiders’ assessment to adjust to their preferences. Rather than molding me for strangers’ taste, suiting my palate was the answer for assimilating with the