Blog Post Draft
My childhood bedroom is the first place that comes to mind when I think of a dense network of life. This room that sits diagonally from the stairs on the upper level of my house holds so many of both my childhood and teenage memories. I remember moving into this house when I was just four years old. A family with a young girl about my age lived there before me – I remember the wall inside my then-new bedroom being decorated with Winnie-the-Pooh stickers. My earliest memories as a child are housed in that bedroom. At the time, my sister was only an infant, so my parents told me I could pick which room I wanted. I still remember how exciting that was for me. I scoped out the two bedrooms I could choose from, and even though the one I chose was smaller, it had the better view. I often think about why I didn’t immediately gravitate toward the bigger room. When we moved into the new house, it was autumn. Fall in New Jersey is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have witnessed, even though I may be a bit biased. The bedroom that I chose had a view of our backyard, full of trees with bright red, yellow, and orange foliage. I wanted that view every year. After I picked my bedroom, I got to decorate it how I liked. As you can imagine, this was all very exciting for a four-year old. I looked at paint swatches with my mom, going through an endless number of purple hues and green hues. I still remember the color I chose: watermelon green. It was a happy color, but my mom said I should choose something lighter. Being a pretty obedient child (at the time), I agreed and chose yellow-green. It was most definitely not what I wanted, but I let it go. To this day, I laugh when I look at my walls, reminiscing about the day that I chose that color fourteen years earlier. Over the years, my bedroom has grown to be the place that is closest to my heart. My whole life existed in my room. When I still lived at home, I would do homework, have sleepovers with my friends, listen to music, read, and sleep in there. I put posters on my walls, tacked pictures of friends and family to my bulletin board, and kept my stuffed animals on my shelf. I still imagine my room; how the light must always be off, how quiet it must be. It must be so different from the nights I had my friends over, when I was constantly warned to “keep it down.” I think about how I last left it before I came back to school at the end of winter break. My bed is in the center of the room, next to my desk on one side and my nightstand on the other. My drawer sits in one corner, with my stuffed animals teetering on top of it. My closet sits adjacent to my door, probably almost empty due to my sister stealing my clothes now that I don’t live at home. Sleeping here makes me realize how much I miss my room back home. Although I’ve decorated my dorm room with pictures of my family and friends from back home, it will never have the same feel that my bedroom does. Some of my fondest memories took place in this room in the house in which I grew up. A piece of me will always lie in that room in Holmdel, New Jersey.