The things I have found in my room vary by location. A grave of memories waiting to be brought back to life, the cave under my bed reveals my childhood days. One day while sifting through the cluttered mess of items unearthed from under my bed, I found a crinkled and dusty picture of two young kids wearing party hats, fashioning goofy smiles for the camera. Puzzled by the uncanny familiarity of the children, I suddenly recognized the taller, smiling child as myself and the other person as my younger brother at my fiveyearold birthday party. I now find that picture resting on my bookshelf to remind me of a precious time I nearly forgot. Since that enlightening experience, I have found plenty of other lost memories under my bed as well. I found a colorful variety of Starburst wrappers; Starbursts were my favorite childhood candy until I found a dead ant hidden inside the wrapper of a Starburst I was about to eat. I have also found Lego blocks and smileyface stickers and colorful marbles and an assortment of crayons and stubby colored pencils and empty bottles of allergy medicine and crumpled gum wrappers and plastic toy soldiers and old video game cases. I even found a wrinkled postcard of the Old Faithful geyser from the time when my family visited Yellowstone National Park about ten years ago. The birthday picture and the postcard are now found on my bookshelf, which towers over my bed. On my bookshelf, I found items of sentimental value. The things found standing proudly on my shelf are a miniature version of the Eiffel Tower, a glossy clay sculpture, a smooth creamcolored shell, a framed family portrait, and a beautiful pen that my grandfather gave to me before he passed away, Hidden in the depths of my bookshelf I even found a picture of my best friend who moved to Cleveland long ago. I found myself reminiscing about the countless adventures we shared while roaming around my neighborhood as carefree children.
The things I have found in my room vary by season. In the spring, my least favorite season because of my pollen allergies, I usually found an assortment of remedies lined up on my nightstand; I especially found helpful the prescription eye drops that rapidly soothed my itchy eyes. In the sweltering heat of sunny summer days, I often found a fan blasting cool air and juicestained popsicle sticks piling up in my trash can and a couple of beach towels strewn across the floor and gritty sand embedded in the soft fibers of my carpet and swim goggles and bottles of sunscreen SPF 30 and crumpled Coca-Cola cans lying by the bed and paperback books littering my desk. When it was sunny, I found beams of sunshine dancing across my floor, and when it was stormy, I found my floor trembling with each roll of thunder. Sometimes on cool summer nights I would turn off the fan and crack open the windows instead. As the seasons changed and winter rolled around, I found the once inviting, open windows of summer remaining shut. Throughout the bitterly cold and snowy months, I found bulky winter jackets tossed casually on a chair and single gloves hiding in corners and a portable electric heater providing warmth and extra blankets stacked neatly on my bed and wrinkled blue dress shirts scattered around the room and unwieldy textbooks piled on my desk and yellow pencils and highlighters riddling the floor and crumpled notebook paper containing halfformed thoughts and empty cups of hot cocoa huddled in a corner of my desk. I found on my nightstand my dependable electric alarm clock; its piercing cry would jolt me awake to prepare for school, forcing my reluctant body to leave my warm, cozy cocoon of blankets. The things found in my room vary depending on the season, representing my changing habits and interests.
The things I have found in my room vary by my mood. When I was tired, I found sleep and serenity in my room and relaxation and an escape from the real world. When I felt angry, I found comfort and decompression and meditation and peace in my room. When I was happy, I found music playing from the speakers, lamps shining like beacons, my brother laughing uncontrollably, the wondrous sounds of video games filling the room, and schoolwork tucked away. When I felt lost, I found hope and guidance and love and security within this safe haven I have come to call my home. Most notably, I found a sense of identity in my room. Searching under my bed, I found my childhood and items I had long forgotten, yet wished to remember and on my bookshelf, I found a treasure trove of important memories that reminded me of resonating moments in my life, and all over my room I found a multitude of items that told stories of what I value. I found myself in that room.