As I bluntly stroll down the corridor to the washroom, I halt, turn, and encounter the room where I grew up. It is petite but quite cozy; not to mention it is satiated with undistinguishable scents and mysterious ticking noises that often get on my nerves. A shallow smile blossoms across my face as I stand at the entrance, recollecting all of the tender 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.
Once I enter my room, the first architecture that welcomes me 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 is decorated with sky blue and 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 clean 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. It protects me with its thirteen feet tall, strong impenetrable embankment 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 side of my slim door. On the door hinge, necklaces, bags, and medals hang nervously, on the brink of falling out of place. My floral pink bed is my private vacation getaway where I snuggle with my fluffy friends. It is placed against the southwest wall under the window where not a ray of sunlight can ever bother my audacious 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 allows me to escape on a rainy day. Nothing is more relaxing than sitting on my bed reading a book. To both sides of the book shelves are the two Twilight and New Moons poster that have been hanging there, motionless, 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 side is where the big closet stands. The white sliding doors of the closet are embellished with witty little Christmas stickers. Behind those 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 upon on that shelf to the point 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 a single thing, I’ll know. These are my babies.”
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 exposing everything, almost misleading you to assume a corner is just another window. The smooth surface 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 stretches upward into two levels where 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 brand new laptop sits. To the right, there is a massive 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 all 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 an 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.
Although my mom often titles me a hoarder, I consider myself an organized collector. It keeps me satisfied to have all of my old memories grow up with me. I feel peaceful among my valuable “treasures” and I would never change a hair about it, although some paint or wallpaper on my fences would be awesome. My room is the place that I escape to after a tiring day because it keeps me safe and comfortable. And I am proud to say that is the place I call my own little castle.