I can still remember that magical past I spent in the Himalayas. It was the magnificent summer of 2011 and the sun was shining bright. I felt like the luckiest 9 year old in the world. The bumpy rides and dangerous hikes always felt natural. I could see glaciers and rivers going down the mountain. The birds were chirping and a monkeys head would pop out from a tree every once in a while. As soon as I would get out of the car, I would start “adoring” the scenery. The mountain made everything around me calm and serene. It smelled like home and the trees were as tall as a mountain similar to the one I was standing on. The grass was as smooth as silk. After all the “adoring” was done, me and my family went to a beautiful hotel room. I was starving and had an awesome lunch. That was the life. It smelled like home. I would not want to go off the mountain. As if it was a part of me. The thought that I had to go home was always displeasing. But I would remember to enjoy every moment until it lasted. I would never forget the fun I had. This memory is significant to me because the mountain made me feel comfortable. It was the place that was home. It was where I belonged.