Jihoon Yoo/#4 meaningful place final draft/Tuesday 9am

Memories of My House Jihoon Yoo EIT 201301135   Throughout our lives, we encounter and visit innumerable places that give us both pleasant or unpleasant memories and feelings of hope, joy, or sadness. However, we usually forget the feelings we felt, or dialogues we spoke in those precious and meaningful places after a while, as if those places only had been negligible or not worthwhile places to visit. As for me too, I have been to, or I think I have, visited diverse places that taught me important lessons and values, but have forgotten the feelings I felt or the precious values secretly covered in those places. However, there is one place that I still remember so vividly, and still can feel its warmth like it is still around me to this day. It is the house I lived in for one whole year in Wales, UK, when I was in 5th grade. To talk about the exterior of the house, it was three stories including the attic, with a backyard and a small garage that could only fit one vehicle. Despite the dark colors our neighboring houses had, our house particularly was colored in white and light blue, which was standing out from the rest of the houses. About a few hundred meters away from my house stood Bishop Gore Secondary School, and therefore loud laughter and chatters from the students going to and from school always encircled my house. Going inside the house, first thing that could be seen was the stairs leading to the second floor, and next to the stairs were the living room and the kitchen, where I used to spend most of my times. Whenever I was lying on the sofa in the living room, the delicious smell of my mother cooking Korean or English foods always permeated every parts of my house, giving excitement for the family. My bedroom and my parent's bedroom were situated on the second floor, and my older sister got the big room on the third floor, which I used to envy so much at that time. Something that was unfamiliar and particular about my house was the fact that there were three toilets, one on the second floor, another one just next to the door leading to the backyard, and the last one at the backyard, covered helplessly by a thin wooden door. Also, ironically there was a sink located in my sister's room, and therefore it created a sensational combination of a sink and a bed located side by side. It was my sister's usual routine to leave the tap open ever so slightly so that there would be droplets of water while reading her books, which she explained her behavior as 'reading inside the rain.' Anyhow, guessing by its ironic and unfamiliar settings this house had, the initial owner that built the house must have been very lazy. Unusual for English houses, our house had a boiler room midway from the second floor to the third floor, but it was always avoided by everyone because of a creepy picture attached to the door of the room. It was a drawing of two Lego characters, but it was too old that the drawing was worn out and had brown smudges on the edge. However, the inside of the boiler room was a complete reversal. The carpet that covered the floor was fluffy and smooth that whenever I lied down, it was like a thick blanket covering and soothing me. Also, a carpet in combination with a dim yellow light made me feel so calm, therefore despite everyone's fear and hatred towards the room, I frequently went there and just pondered about anything I wanted. The foremost reason for remembering the house so vividly despite it being over eight years since I left is not because of the fact that the house was so unique and out of the standards, but because of the memories I gained in the house, which I still cannot forget. There were a lot of memories that I still cherish, and I can say with certainty that most of the memories surrounding this house are related to my best friend called Nia Williams. When I now think about the places inside the house like the sofa in the living room, the bathroom on the second floor, or the stairs leading up to the third floor, the memories I had with Nia, whether it was trivial or important, spring up inside my head. Like normal 12 years old girls, we loved to hang out in each other's houses, and every time she came to my house, we would sit on the sofa and watch 'Cartoon networks' or famous TV shows, go up to my room to gossip about the boys we fancied, eat chicken soup in the kitchen, which we bought at the convenient store just a few blocks away from my house, dance to famous singer's songs like the 'Black Eyed Peas' in the backyard, and sleep in my sister's room where the bed was big enough for two. Like this, our house was a little hideout for us two and there was nowhere inside the house that we didn't have any memories about. For a little Asian girl that went to a foreign setting for the first time ever, having a beloved friend I can talk to using my untrimmed English and get along with without having any culturally different mindsets, was something so valuable and irreplaceable. And therefore the memories I spent with her are unforgettable and are treasured so much. Also, my house was the gathering place for the Korean families that lived nearby. In a small town of Wales, it is normally hard to find other nationalities than Welsh people, but fortunately there were about four more Korean families that came to live because of varying reasons. Having met people that have many things in common in such an uncommon place was a big pleasure, and therefore all the families gathered frequently, if not every day. For most of the times, the gathering place for all was our house, for having a backyard for barbequing, a big living room for the fathers, a clean and well-organized kitchen for the mothers, and a creepy room to play hide-and-seek for us, or the kids. Every Korean celebration days like Chuseok or Seolnal, all the families would come to my house, eat Korean foods that were too spicy and salty for our English friends to eat, drink Korean beer our parents bought at a distant Korean food store and eat delicious candies and snacks. For other people or those reading this essay may say or think that it is what normal people do and therefore there is nothing to cherish about, but for us, our house was a breakthrough, away from speaking another language, cultural barriers, and works and assignments. It was a place where we were ourselves and nothing else. It has been more than eight years since I left that unforgettable, treasure box-like house in Wales, and since then I have moved to different houses in different surroundings. However, when someone asks me what my best house so far was, I will not even hesitate a second to say that my house in Wales was the best. It was never the richest house, or the prettiest house that someone has every gotten, but certainly in terms of the values and memories that a house gave, my house is without doubt incomparable. And I believe that I am very fortune and lucky to have invaluable memories to cherish forever.