Laur’s Blog, Volume 2: A Girl’s Bedroom

Coming home is a strange and oddly surreal feeling. I find myself feeling excited about everything and nothing at the same time here.

My bedroom is a museum, trapped in a different era in each corner. My walls tell the stories of my teenage years through memories, through photographs. My shelves hold knick-knacks from my early childhood. My closet holds the remnants of everyone I have ever loved.

My Time Capsule

I still have the clothes my mother saved for me from the 90s buried there somewhere. I still have hand-me-downs from my older cousins. I still have old jeans and old tank tops from my former best friends. I still have old sweatshirts and sweatpants from old boyfriends. I still find photos I’ve tried to hide, polaroids of forgotten memories, and people that resurface every so often.

My closet is a time capsule, if you will. While going through it, I always find glimpses of the lives I don’t remember living.

My Room

My room is a light shade of gray, accented by soft pinks, browns, greens, and blues. It forms a sort of unconventional, backwards “L” shape. My bed is situated in the right corner, with two windows on the wall beside me that overlook my backyard.

We have a trampoline, an in-ground pool. We are surrounded by woods; by peace, by quiet. I find comfort in coming home. I find silence within the familial noise.

Where Time Folds

To the left of my bed lies my nightstand and a full-length mirror. Furthermore, I have a pink couch and an old shelving unit created by my father. Here, I display photos of my high school graduation next to my baby pictures, with photo albums from my freshman year of college alongside them as well. 

Time is seemingly warped here. Memories held on by fragments of each moment overlap each other. I am here, there, everywhere. I am two, I am five, I am sixteen, but I am also an adult. I am full-grown, but I have never really grown up. My mind stays stuck in a place beyond the boundaries of time, beyond the conceptions surrounding human evolution. My body, well, that’s another story.

A Girl’s Room

A girl’s bedroom is her safe space. Here, I write in my journals, and I paint on my floor. Here, I dance around the room to my favorite songs with my headphones on.

There is something poetic about the freedom, about the ongoing imagination a girl can have in her room. Here, I have created my favorite pieces. Here, I have lost and found myself over and over again. Here, I lie, awaiting what is next.