on research showing that dreams have symbolic meaning. This psychological belief goes all the way back to Freud, who stated that dream interpretation was not universal, even though he treated it like it was. I was most surprised to learn that this belief actually stems from the late 1800s to the early 1900s. I knew it wasn’t a new belief, but I did not know that belief was over a hundred years old. This myth has persisted because we believe in a subconscious self, and we want to believe that we…
My Dream House Ever since I was ten years old I have known what kind of house I wanted to live in. A house that is on the lake and after I start a family it will be considered a loving home. One of the most important details about a house is the location. My house will be located where it is quiet and peaceful. My house will be located on a small private lake, but about two hundred yards off the edge of the lake. The best location for…
My parents believe in having a very small family. My house is built of bricks iron, tiles and marbles. It has got all the modern amenities of life. The bathroom is also large, airy and tiled It has a shower.
We live in a three-room flat on the ground floor. It is in a big and modern colony of the city. There is a large drawing cum-dining hall, two bedrooms, a kitchen and toilets.
As for the interior, my house has nothing exceptional. It has a regular zoning and was apparently built by an architect with too little imagination. However, my mother managed to make this place special. I need to note that my mother likes minimalism, so she puts all things in wardrobes and cupboards. As a result, there is much space in our house, and one cannot risk banging into numerous decorative chairs and tables. However, the rooms do not look empty. We have may high-quality, comfortable pieces of furniture like the large brown leather couch in the living room, a soft white carpet in my bedroom, or an amazing wooden table in the kitchen that I love the most. All things fit each other well, which shows that my mother took pains to work on the design.
My house has a dark red roof and beige walls, as well as brown wooden windows that can be wide opened on sunny days. I especially love the window in the living room as it faces the street where large old oak trees grow. The house has only three bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom. However, all rooms except for one bedroom are spacious and filled with natural light. I love windows facing the sunny side, and I cannot even imagine how people live in dark, shady apartments with limited natural light. There is a door that leads from the kitchen to the small backyard, so my family has an opportunity to have a dinner outside when the weather is fine. We also have the small garage on the left side of the house, and my father likes to call it his office. He spends a lot of time there as he likes designing and constructing different technical stuff.
I admire the beauty of my house. The vintage vibes make it even more beautiful. My grandparents have a small garden in the patio which adds greenery to my house. Moreover, it also has two trees. One is a pomegranate tree and the other is a Henna tree. They provide us with shade and sweet fruits.
Moreover, if you have your loved ones around, then there can be no greater blessing. You must realize the importance of your house before it gets too late. Even I never knew how precious my house was up until one incident that changed my outlook.
I watched this house being built from the ground up by my dad’s own hands. I saw every ounce of work he poured into building something better for our growing family, and watched as he woke up for work at six and then drove across town at five in the evening to work on our new house, sometimes not coming back until nine. My own handprint lies in the cement foundation, a nine year old’s mark on the world. However, for all the sawdust summers, the way the nailgun rewrote the rhythm of my heart beat, it was never quite finished. There are always half started ideas and unfinished plans.
Now, six years later, I walk into my house everyday by turning the stiff doorknob a little extra hard, ignoring the light fixture in the entryway that has never had a bulb. I walk past my dad’s building plans laid out across the coffee table, my brother’s trains chugging their way across the living room floor, my mom’s shoes covered in dirt from gardening, my sister’s unassuming masterpieces gracing the dining table, my own books and dance shoes piled high on the couch. I’m alone in the living room, but I can hear my mom’s fingers flying at sixty words a minute as she works in the office, my four year old brother having a tea party with his stuffed animals, and my sister singing in her room as she works on her latest artwork. In a few hours I’ll pass my dad in the driveway as he comes home and I go to dance.