Osan MHS Moon 11th Grade

Here are the works by Ms. Moon’s 11th graders.

Words from the Teacher

For many military children and children of parents who work in highly mobile positions, the word “home” can have a loaded meaning and stir intense feelings. These children often follow their parents on various assignments around the globe, often always being “the new kid” in a new place.

Yet, our children are incredibly resilient and unique. They manage to build a sense of home in unfamiliar places and create a sense of what is normal around them. Despite their circumstances that require moving every few years, my students are normal teenagers who are funny, perceptive, intelligent, while still imperfect just like other teenagers one would find in the continental U.S. or elsewhere in the world.

As a former third culture kid who also moved to different nations as an adolescent, I can empathize with my students’ different feelings and reactions to the word “home” and what it means.

I asked my students at Osan Middle High School to write a few words about what “home” was to them. Here are the responses I received from students in my English 11 class.

- Ms. Seara L. Moon

More Than Just a Place by Alicia Chun (11th grade)

When people think of home, they usually imagine a house, a place with walls, a roof and a cozy bed. But to me, home isn’t just a physical space, it’s the feeling of being safe, comfortable and understood. It is where I can be myself without worrying about being judged. Sometimes, that’s my actual house, but other times, it’s the people I’m with.

My family is a big part of what makes a place feel like home. No matter how stressful my day is, I know I can come home and have my family there to support me. Even when we argue, I know that they’ll always be there for me. The same goes for my closest friends, with them, I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. We joke around, talk about random things, and help each other through tough times. That feeling of connection is what makes them my home, even if we’re just hanging out at school or texting late at night.

At the end of the day, home isn’t just about where you are, it’s about who you’re with. A house can feel empty without the right people, but even the most ordinary places can feel like home when you’re surrounded by those who truly care about you and love you for who you are.

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A Place Called Home by Artleandro P. Clemonsz

The Court of Memories

Basketball is like my home. When I play, everything else disappears. It’s just me, the ball, and the game.

I fell in love with basketball in my hometown, Tagum City (in the Philippines). My friends and I spent hours playing, doing silly things, and having real fun without phones. We met up after school, excited to play on the nearest court.

We played until it got dark, laughing and enjoying ourselves. We didn’t care about winning or losing; it was all about being together and having fun.

Basketball helped me make friends in the Philippines. My friends and I taught each other new skills, supported each other, and spent a lot of time together. They saw me experience my heartbreaks, and I saw theirs. We shared our sad times and cheered each other up.

My friends and I celebrated our victories and comforted each other in our losses. Those moments made us stronger and closer. The court was where we learned life lessons together.

These moments in Tagum City taught me the true meaning of friendship. Even now, when I play basketball, I remember those days. It reminds me of simpler times and what really matters.

Basketball is my home because it connects me to those memories and the people I shared the memories with. It’s a constant in a changing world, reminding me of my roots and the joy of the game.

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A Place Called Home by Alicia Ford

Home means many different things to me. Home to me are the people around me, the places I have been to, and things I love to do like play the saxophone. When I have my home I can see the vision I have with my future.

The people in my life are one of the three most important things that make up my home. My mom, my two sisters, and my brother are the main part of my home along with my God family and my friends. These people are home to me because they have helped me through life, especially this year and last. My mom helped me when I was upset and when I felt like I’m at my lowest. These past two years were the worst years of my life especially with my grandma passing away and I couldn’t go see her because I was still in Korea at the time. Then when I came back home in the summer my Dad was very distant towards me and my sisters but he has been like this for a while but my mom tried making my summer a great summer and she helps me when I need to talk to someone and she has also made my stay in Korea very fun and I feel more comfortable being here. My brother is a part of my home because even though we do have problems with each other sometimes we still like to have fun and talk. He can tell when I am upset and when I am not feeling like myself. He likes to check on me when I have been in my room too long. He is an amazing person and so kind to others but has a big attitude sometimes, but I still love him. I love my god family because even though we don’t see each other every day we do go and see them during the summer and go on a family vacation together like a few years ago we went to Florida and stayed in a villa then we went to many different place and we have a tradition on the last night of hanging out we make smores and have a water balloon fight. My friends have given me a great school year these past few years. I have many laughs with them and cries. They have helped me get through the years and have made me enjoy being at school.

Lastly, my home is music without music I wouldn’t be able to get through the day. Music helps me to be calm and when you listen to music it tells stories of other people and you might be able to relate to them. If I didn’t know what music was, I wouldn’t know anything about the different types of instruments. Six years ago, I started playing the saxophone and I love the sound that it makes. If I didn’t play the saxophone, I would probably have to choose something else for college and job life. These things I call home because they have made me the person that I am today. Without these things I don’t know what I would do or where I would be.

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What is Home? by Carter Frederick

Home is the place I sleep comfortably and safety,

Home is the place I rest,

Home is the place I want to stay,

Home is the place I have family near,

Home is not tied to one place, but many,

Yet none as well.

Home is more than a place,

Home is a feeling,

Home is diverse, yet the same.

Home is physical, while also naught,

Home is detailed, while bare,

Home is empty, yet full.

Home is different among peers,

While to you it’s not.

Your home may seem different to another,

But to you it’s more.

Home is a special thing,

Which others may not see or think.

We all know what it is,

While we also know naught.

It holds a special place.

If asked what it is you know.

Home is Home.

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Borinquen My Precious Land and Home by Yauris Garcia Colon

It is true that home doesn’t have to be materialistic, but it can be a feeling. Home is where you feel safe, enjoy your meals, feel loved and secure. But you see, home to me is also where I’m defined, my culture, my ethnicity, where I’m from, what makes me a person. You know what my home is now? That’s right, my home is my precious land in Puerto Rico. An island in the Caribbean Sea, having Cuba and the Dominican Republic as neighbors.

Puerto Rico or known as Borinquen, is a small island, yes but it can get lively and rowdy. This land can have bustling towns and busy cities! From the cobbled grey stoned streets to the black tar streets, as the people move from point A to point B. The blue skies could be filled with clouds or a flock of birds every now and then. The clear beaches shine in all their glory as the sunlight reflects the waters on the sand that’s underwater. The beautiful rainforests bloom with a vibrant green as they color the landscapes of this land. The caverns can be filled with wildlife.

Once the sun rises in my precious land, you hear the calls of the roosters in these urban neighborhoods as they wake up the whole street. Waking you up to a whole new day and starting as it does its duty. As the streets light up and begin to get busy with cars and people trying to go on about their daily lives, so do the beaches. But this liveliness can last until dawn. Yet in some other parts when the moon begins to shine upon the dark, the city lights glimmer and shine as artificial stars.

You see how lovely it is in Borinquen, isn’t it? It is such a wonderful place just like any other that’s important to oneself. Many people have their special and treasured home. But when the noise dies down and the city lights provide this strange, serene comfort as it grows quiet. As the waves of the beaches sway in a slow gentle rhythm with the wind, the nocturnal animals wake singing lullabies to the people just like our little amphibian friend here, El Coqui. Indicating that the land has gone to rest awaiting a new day to get busy yet again.

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Where’s My Home? by David Green

“Make yourself at home.” That’s probably the first thing you think of when you or someone visits another’s home. Now, what do you define as a home? Some people believe it’s a property, some think of the land, and others think its sentimental worth. Some people don’t believe that they have a home at all. My home is both all and none of these examples. My home is where I am.

“Home is where thou art.” This quote from Emily Dickinson says that our home is where we are. I think this is a very good quote because some people move several times in their lives. Some people might be unlucky enough to lose their house or may not even have a house. My house has also been the house of others. I have never been in the same place for a long time. I was only a few months old when I first moved overseas for my dad’s orders. Since then, I have wondered where my home is.

I used to think that your home is just a house. A place to live even. After moving so much, I thought that I had no home. That I was just tumbleweed in the desert. Moving here to Korea however, I realized that it was going to be the last time I moved in my childhood. I wanted to enjoy Korea as much as I could because, who in the US can say they lived in Korea. The only issue I had when I first moved was “What is my home?”

My hometown in Texas is very small. Stereotypical small, countryside town. Everyone knows each other and has plenty of backroads to joyride a quad bike all day. I was born there, my parents were born there, and most of my family have lived there for most (if not all) their lives. I used to think that this town was my home. It was the only place that was always there. It was the only place we were able to go and visit often. However, moving here to Korea made it to where we cannot easily visit there anymore. Then I thought. What was a place that never left my side?

I always wondered until one day I thought outside the box. “The place that never leaves my side is the place that is near my side.” As a military child, I moved a lot more than most people. The word “Home” to people means a place where they are welcomed. A place where they live. Maybe even where they work. The only issue is that you can’t have multiple homes. It’s like saying you can’t have multiple things you love. You can love as many things as you want, but at the end of the day you still hold one above the others. That is why my home isn’t a house or a town. It is the place around me, where I am, and myself. “Home is where thou art.”

A Place Called Home by Jared Hightower

A place I call home is where I really call home is a place where I can really bond with my family and somewhere I can see myself and them grow. I would say I never got a chance to call a place home since I haven’t gotten the chance to live somewhere for more than 4-5 years even though that is a third of my life time. I will say the closest thing to home for me was when I lived in Misawa, Japan. The overall experience I had there was probably the most awakening I’ve had in life overall. When I mean wakening, I mean maturing and realizing my high school years had just started and I didn’t have much time left as a kid. It really took me until the start of my junior year to realize I needed to wake up.

Memories I get to make in an area where I can live for a while is another way of me calling home. Those are ones I don’t ever forget, and I get to keep with me until the day I leave the feet of this earth. Being a military child it is hard to call a place home knowing you can’t really say you grew up somewhere. It’s like saying you’re going to have that one friend for the rest of your life knowing that they come and go. It sucks that you really have that one friend that has been there since day one and you lose them once you or they move, and it just tears you apart. Another place I could call home was when I was stationed in Fort Detrick Maryland. I would like to call this place home because I really spent most of my time growing up there, only because it was a short move from Missouri where I was before, and I was close to my recently passing Grandpa. This topic gets emotional for me, but I would like to bring it up. My grandpa has been there since Day1 for me. I was with him almost every week and we just grew a bond undetachable. He really was one of the main people who showed me hard work and dedication and to what is needed, what is done and what to do right in life. This recent summer we went back to Arkansas to finish building our house and we were able to visit him, as hard as it was to see him in the position where he can barely move. It was also the first time we had lived in Maryland. The day before we were flying out, we all had just woken up and got a call from my aunt saying he wasn’t breathing.

That was probably the hardest day I have ever had to go through not just for me but my dad. Having to see him be that emotional was tough on all of us and the sad part is my brother Jacek doesn’t even know. We finished off our last day there building up the house and securing it and on back to Korea to the Philippines we go. A quote I have gone by since that very day is “Take advantage of the time that people give you without taking advantage of the people giving you time.” To conclude this, a place I call home is where memories that are never forgotten are made.

A Place Called Home by Madelynn King

Whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I feel a dull version of an identity crisis and never know what to say. Perhaps they want the long answer, complete with a world tour filled with “I lived there for three years then my family went to another place.” Maybe they’d like the short answer, usually about where I was born. My place of birth is Texas, which I can remember nothing about. My home isn’t in Texas or any other location that can be pointed at on a map- it’s my bedroom. No matter what house, apartment, or hotel I’ve lived in, my bedroom has always been the one place that feels like what is described as “home.”

My bedroom is my refuge, where I find both safety and comfort. It’s a space that allows me to exist in a world that feels uniquely my own. I relish the solitude, not in a melancholic or desolate manner, but rather as a much-needed break from the outside world. I treasure the moments I spend alone; they are filled with peace rather than loneliness. I have discovered the perfect equilibrium, where solitude revives me, and I can truly be myself.

In my room, I feel liberated from the weight of expectations. There’s a comforting freedom in knowing that I don’t need to don a mask of politeness, engage in small talk, or worry about my appearance. Instead, I can listen to my favorite, often criticized, music, and light countless candles without someone complaining about the fragrant smell. I can dive headfirst into whatever obsession has captured my attention that week and enjoy my passions without a hint of judgment or interruption.

I’ve resided in houses, apartments, and even a hotel. I’ve had bedrooms in countries where communication with the locals was challenging. Regardless of location, I always ensure that my bedroom feels like a personal sanctuary. At this stage in my life, it is my true home, the one place that remains exclusively mine, no matter which part of the world I wake up in.

A Place Called Home by Logan Lacson

To me, my family “creates” my homes. Wherever they live, no matter how far apart they are, or how many different places they live, all their places are home to me if they welcome me. My family in California and my family in Washington are as much a home as my father’s apartment here in Korea. Whenever they welcome me to their residence, I never feel out of place.

I can always depend on my family to support me. I am grateful for them, as most of them are good people. Every time I talk to my aunt, she tries to make sure that I’m ready for college. Or when I talk to my grandma, she makes sure I am living well. Every time they check up on me, it makes me feel closer to another home. Even if they move, my family remains family.

I feel at home in more than one place. Both my mom’s side and my dad’s side of the family feel equally as close.

The Heart of Home by Belldandy Lamb

Home is often defined as a physical space, a permanent place where a person feels a sense of belonging. It is typically viewed as a location filled with cherished memories and personal significance. However, this is a concept foreign to me. Growing up in a constantly moving family, I struggled to grasp what home truly meant. My life was a whirlwind of transitions, and the idea of a stable, memorable environment seemed like an unattainable dream.

As a child, I felt angry and frustrated. I longed for that feeling of home that everyone around me seemed to have. I wanted a space that was uniquely mine, filled with familiar sights, sounds, and smells. I envisioned a cozy room decorated with personal touches, a sanctuary where I could belong. Yet, with every move, I found myself carrying nothing but a backpack, always ready to leave. How could I hope to have a home when my life’s only constant is changed?

However, the more I grew, the more I realized how wrong my view was. Yes, home can be physical, but it is also emotional. It is a feeling beyond walls and roofs. A home is built on relationships and experiences shared with loved ones, regardless of where life takes you. A home is woven into interactions with family and friends. The laughter shared over meals, the late-night conversations, and the breakdowns filled with support. Each new location is an opportunity to create memories and even deeper bonds. These are the threads that connect me to my belief of home and led me to realize I could build a home in my heart.

My family is my true home, and I felt that sense of belonging since day one; I only needed to recognize it. The support, love, and comfort we have are what makes any place feel special. Whether we are in an apartment in one city or a house in another, home lives within us, not the walls that surround us. It is in memory. I remember my father’s laughter as he helped me learn to ride my bike, his hands steadying me as I wobbled, the world blurring around me. “You can do it,” he encouraged and as I found my balance, exhilaration filled my heart—a floor sturdy and firm, woven from the threads of support. I remember sitting cross-legged in the living room, my mother’s voice soft and stern as she read each vocabulary word to me. When I stumbled over letters, her patient corrections guided me. When I won second place in the spelling bee, her smiling face ignited in me a love for learning—a roof woven from the threads of love. I remember late-night giggles, whispering secrets under the covers, and sharing dreams of the future. My sister, my partner-in-crime, and my fiercest bully. She painted my world with laughter and mischief—a wall woven from the threads of comfort.

Home is a concept that goes beyond physical. Home belongs to you. While I may not have had a traditional home filled with years of memories in one location, I embrace the idea that home is where the heart is. Ultimately, it is not the place that defines my home. It is the scent of my mother’s cooking through the air, the sound of my father’s encouraging words, and the warmth of my sister’s laugh. Those pieces of life, woven together, become my sanctuary. My home is not a physical space; it is an emotion, a poem written in the ink of love. No matter where life takes me, I carry my home within me, alive and beating.

Finding Home in People, Not Places by Evallie Strickland

Home, for me, is not a specific place. As a military child, I am constantly moving, leaving behind the places I’ve grown accustomed to just as they start to feel familiar. Every time I begin to settle in, I must start over again. Over the years, I’ve realized that home isn’t a house, a city, or even a country, it’s the sense of comfort and familiarity I find in the people around me.

My sisters and the friends I make along the way are what truly feel like home. My sisters have been there since day one, providing a constant source of stability, and my friends, both old and new, create a sense of belonging even if we haven’t known each other for long. Through shared experiences, we form bonds that make each new place feel a little less unfamiliar. That is what home means to me- not a location, but the people who make me feel safe and understood.

A Place Called Home by Zachary C. Taylor

My home is in the deep south of the U.S.A. The second largest state in the nation, a fact that I boasted with pride when I was younger for some reason. A lot of my time was spent at my grandparents’ houses when we lived there. I barely remember the house or apartment my parents were renting, probably because I had to stay with Nayna and Boppy or Mimi and Papa while mom and dad were at work. Nayna is my mom’s mom, but Boppy isn’t related to me by blood, but he’s my grandpa, nonetheless. Nayna had remarried after my blood grandfather died of cancer, and I never got to meet him. Mimi and Papa are my dad’s mom and dad, respectively.

My cousin lives with Mimi and Papa. Both of his parents and a brother were dead by the time he was 15 and he had nowhere else to go, so he’s been there for a few years now. He struggled in school a bit, but now he’s currently in college. He’s a role model for me, he showed me that no matter how low your life is right now, you can always bounce back. Granted, I don’t know a lot about his relationship with his parents. I remember someone saying that he had a good relationship with his dad and brother, but I don’t know about his mother. That’s secondary information, though, I never really heard about them from my cousin himself. Fair enough.

My grandparents have had the same houses as I can remember. Mimi and Papa have a log house in a forested area. The neighborhood is a little bit on the sketchy side – There were a group of teens who’d shoot guns in the backyard of the house in front of my grandparent’s place and drive off when the police came. Nayna and Boppy’s house, according to my Mom, was also a bad place. I hadn’t heard of anything happening there, and I’d go out with my friends occasionally and we never saw anything bad.

I’ve lived in a lot of places. The dry heat of Sonoran Arizona, eccentric California, corporate South Korea, but none has my heart as much as Texas, as awfully flawed as it is.

The Place that Feels Like Home by Noe Vasquez

My home is more than just a place; it’s where I feel safe and surrounded by the people I love. It’s where my Mom, Dad, and my brothers live, and where we create fun and loving memories every day. From opening gifts on Christmas or eating Thanksgiving dinner with them or even simple things, such as watching a movie.

My home is filled with loving and caring people and fun heartfelt traditions that make it special every day. Even when I’m having a bad day, I know I have home to look forward to.

Okinawa: The home in my heart by Maya Williams

Out of all the places I’ve lived, I would choose Okinawa, Japan, as my home. It’s such an amazing place with beautiful beaches, a lot of culture, and a friendly community. The mix of nice scenery and good food makes it stand out to me. Okinawa has left a huge mark on my life, and I truly love everything it has to offer.

Okinawa feels like home to me because it’s where I created most of my core and life-changing memories. The time I had there shaped who I am today, and the connections I made with people and the culture have left a lasting impact on my life. Each moment spent in Okinawa holds a special place in my heart.

It’s the longest place I’ve ever lived in. This connection to the island has given me a sense of belonging and familiarity. The memories I’ve created there and the experiences I’ve had have all contributed to my deep appreciation for Okinawa, making it feel like a true home.

Okinawa is a laid-back island, and I feel like it really fits my goal with the flow personality. The relaxed vibe of the island allows me to embrace life without too much stress, and I love how the pace of life here encourages a more easy going lifestyle. This resonates with me and makes it feel like the perfect place to call home.

In conclusion, Okinawa holds a special place in my heart as my home due to the countless memories I created there, the significant amount of time I spent living on the island, and the sense of belonging it provides me with. These reasons come together to form a connection that makes Okinawa a part of who I am.

A Place Called Home by Nysean Shorter

Home, what is home, is it something of origin, or something that makes you feel warm or safe? Is it a person or an object that holds great value to oneself? Is it a feeling of being comforted by warm thoughts or things that bring joy? Home is a concept, but also a reality that can change with a single flip of a coin. Home is so broad, and yet, not everybody knows what the word home truly means.

Home to me is something that has different meanings depending on how one sees it. First off, home isn’t a place for me because moving around at an early stage in my life was kind of strange. I have lived in California, Virginia, Ohio, Tennessee, and most recently Washington. Well, now I am in South Korea. That’s just how life is as I know. So, what home means to me is the people and they don’t have to be blood-related to them to make a place feel like home.

Home is that loving feeling of people you spend your time with or the relationships that are built because of the feeling of comfort. Another place where I feel like its home is due to the different styles of art. Art is a place where you can hide away or express your feelings without having to say anything. One of many art forms that feels like home is music. Music calms my body and has the feeling of a nice, cooked meal that is cooked by my grandmother. It gives you the feeling of sitting on your couch while eating cereal and watching cartoons on the TV.

Osan Air Base