@Herzy 18 July 2025

A Place I Call My Comfort Zone It’s just a small room—but it’s full of love. One step through the door and you can already see everything: the dining table, the kitchen, and the comfort room. When we’re all here, it can get messy. It gets crowded fast, you can barely move around, and yes, it’s stressful at times. But it’s home. Go up to the second floor and you’ll see clothes hanging everywhere— clothes we always forget to fold. The heat up there in the afternoon feels like punishment. Even staying for a minute will make you sweat like crazy. This is where we all sleep together— my father, my mother, my two brothers, and me. We share a single bed where so many things happen at night: my father’s thunderous snores, my brother’s sudden kicks, someone’s arm across your face, legs tangled like vines— you can barely breathe sometimes. But still, somehow, you sleep soundly. It’s small. Too small, maybe. But I love this place. I love how the moment I walk in, everyone’s voice bursts into life like fireworks. My father is already cracking his silly jokes, the kind that makes us laugh long after he stops talking. My mother is quick to correct his stories—especially the romantic ones— always interrupting with her version, while also gossiping about her friends like the chismosa she is. And my brothers? They love to tease me like it’s their full-time job. It’s chaotic. It’s loud. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.