That Old House!

That old house. Last summer my parents bought a house. This is a wonderful place with hardwood floors and beautiful woodworks, and then my room was in the basement. When I first saw my room, I almost cried. I hate it. I have no choice but to prefer it. My parents do not seem to see my feelings. The floor is covered with leaves and other debris. The left wall is not completed. Studs and yellow insulation are still exposed.

The old house was a permanent resident for 30 years and the illegal occupier occupied a burnt old building; it remained dark, airy, unpopular and as far as possible. The old house is rotten and is dead. Wood beams are used to bake wood, copper and metal pipes are stolen. It waited for becoming a bulldozer like other neighbors, and became a shell without a shell. It is a magnificent old house with a window crowded with high ceilings, arched porches, wooden mosaic tiles. When Beirut was a adolescent girl, it was a delicate pearl in Paris in Oriental style. The city and the house share history and heritage, and they are almost dead. Many old houses were destroyed and replaced by high-rise apartments. Coupled with all the wars of Lebanon, greed gave great damage to the charm of the old Beirut.

I do not remember how old I was yet I was a teenager. My brother and I are at grandparents' house during summer vacation. This house is very old, built by my grandfather. The main house consists of a long room / corridor extending from the front of the house to the back of the kitchen. There is a series of rooms leading to the hall on the left side. These are used as bedroom, home office and most remote bathroom. The long room was divided into two by a large cabinet. One side of the cabinet, the front is where guests or visitors are sitting. There is a long family bench toward the opposite wall. Other areas in this area are free. When our grandchildren come, we all go to bed on the mat of straw.