As I stroll down the corridor to the bathroom, I stop short, turn, and face the room where I grew up in. It is petite but quite cozy; not to mention it is satiated with anonymous scents and mysterious ticking noises that often get on my nerves. A shallow smile blossoms across my face as I stand there, recollecting all of the joyful memories of the past. Still observing all of the hectic mess that submerges my room, I feel completed, I am content. Welcome to my humble chamber.
Pink here, pink there. Once I walk into my room, the first thing I notice is a huge window illuminating and warming the entire room with sunlight all the way up to the sky high ceiling. In the center of the plain ceiling, a round, convex ceiling light cover is decorated with sky blue embedded with floating white clouds, to enhance the resemblance to the atmosphere created by the sunlight. The sunlight gently lands on my bed, bleaching the surface of the pink and white bed sheets to hide its wrinkles that never seem to settle down. The four beige walls and the albino ceiling that wraps around my territory are the shields built upon hardwood floors, and thirteen feet tall strong invulnerable walls which protect me from unwanted dangers and sounds. It smells of a mixture of sweet pea, sugar apple, cinnamon, and clean sheets. You can hear reticent ticking sounds of the miscellaneous clocks placed about the little room.
The first object that catches one’s eye in my room is a gigantic poster of Taylor Lautner plastered on the front of my slim door. Behind the door is a poster of a smiling face with vampire teeth. On the door hinge, necklaces, bags, and medals hang nervously, on the brink of falling out of place. My floral pink bed is the happiest place for me to be in where I am very inclined towards sleeping. It is placed against the southwest wall under the window where no a ray of sunlight can ever bother my adventurous dreams. That barrier is cluttered with posters of animals and my idol, Steve Nash. Other than that, my west wall bears a blinded window and backdrops a clothes hanger. The antique wooden clothes hanger is overwhelmed with countless handbags, backpacks, clothes, belts, and hats. The other wall protectively guards the wooden bookshelf which contains dozens of books from my childhood to current day literature books; even books in Korean. That stack of books is the place I escape to on a rainy day. Nothing is more relaxing than sitting on my bed reading a book. To the left and right of the book shelves are the Twilight and New Moons poster that have been hanging there for a couple of years. As I turn I see the wall that I stand in front of every morning to get dressed, my archive, the closet.
The north wall is where the big closet stands. The white sliding doors of the closet are embellished with witty little stickers. Behind the doors to the right, mounds of clothing hang from colorful hangers; boxes, bags, and containers are neatly stacked on top of each other in a single filed row. To the left, my collected treasures, folders, memories, and junks are piled on top of a shelf. Countless objects lay about on that shelf that my mom often asserts, “you know… I guarantee you that you will never know if anyone stole something form your closet with all that mess going on.” My answers are always the same, “you better not touch any of my things, I’ll know. These are my treasures.”
The place where I do my hardcore labor is my desk on the east wall. It is standing in a corner across the window, and sunlight fills the area, without a dark spot, misleading you to assume a corner is just another window. The skin of the table resembles the hard wood floor, just slightly lighter in color, as it had been faded overtime by the sunlight. It is rectangular with four pointy corners stretching out to fill the open space of the room, making it look bulkier than it is. It extends upward into two levels where all the dust covered books and photos are lazily displayed. The large wooden piece of furniture is surrounded by images and posters, making the area very crowded but exciting at the same time. It is also a training area where I master my procrastination and squeeze my brain out from studying. On the upper but smaller level of the desk is where my computer monitor stands alongside two bounteous pencil holders and stuffed animals. At the edge of the upper shelf, there is a slim yet lengthy deck where my utensils are organized. The lower part of the furniture is where my new laptop sits. To right, there is a dent where the computer is deposited between the crammed folders and papers. A black organizer occupies the area to the left taming my mess just a little. Beside it reside the hand sanitizer, make up, a stack of cards, a camera, perfumes, lotions, and other utensils. The area between the upper shelf and the main table is caved in to protect my wallet, important documents, and make up pallets which are neatly stacked on top of each other.
The music stand which I use while playing the flute stands buried beneath a variety of music books and all purpose Strathmore art paper for painting and drawing. On it hangs infinite an amount of necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and other accessories that I rarely wear. The wall that supports the flimsy head of the stand is adorned with a plethora of posters such as my favorite band, Twilight, puppies, kittens, and art projects.
Even though my mom often calls me a hoarder, I consider myself an organized collector. I feel peaceful among my valuable “treasures” and I would not change a single thing about it, although some colorful paint or wallpaper on the walls would be nice. My room is the place that I escape to after a tiring day because it keeps me at ease and comfortable. And I am proud to say that is the place I call my own little castle.