My Home

My house is made of brick and mortar. But my home is made of my parents and sister Together we have made the four-wall one roof structure, a heaven on earth. However, a partial credit of it goes to the discipline that my parents have instilled in both of us. All of us wake up at half-past five in the morning, I water the garden, my sister makes the beds, my father cleans his car and brings milk and my mother takes her bath, and then she goes into the kitchen. The whole day like-wise has been divided into periods of work and relaxation. We are particularly fond of our garden. My parents have gone to a great length to procure some rare variety of plants for it. My mother loves to read and cook. My father loves to make small decorative pieces out of simple things that are strewn around the house. It is not surprising therefore that my home is full of books, the aroma of cooked food, and decorative objects. My sister loves the sound of music. As far as I am concerned I am the lazy one of my family. I love watching people. This habit of mine has got me into trouble many times. But I still think that by observing people I do not commit the same mistakes that they do. My home is the only refuge in the whole world where I feel safe.