From where it starts, to going around the world and back, till the end. Days passed as I sat on my single bed. For some it would be viewed as your average bed, but for me, it was a wooden bed which held my mattress with wooden planks and strengthened by string to keep the structure of the frame together instead of having it spread apart). And so I laid down on my drenched pillow with my Nintendo 3DS at hand playing Professor Layton games throughout the afternoon. The grey atmosphere outside surrounded me. Through my broad window (my bed is beside the window) you could see the grey sky with the grey plants surrounding the garden and everything just seemed so monotone.
My room was the only place with a bit of colour; in front of my bed was a brown wooden desk with curved edges (on top) which carried me through all the tough times of college; a hanger to it's left to hold my pyjamas and most importantly, my clothes for what I am about to wear the following day. The hanger was always interesting to me. It had smooth wooden branches sticking out of it for the clothes, but what was most interesting was that it felt like it was meant to be there. If this hanger was to be moved around the house, it wouldn't look natural.
Right in-between my bed and my sister's be was a little table where we would place our water bottles before bed in case either of us felt thirsty. This small table was made out of wood (like what everything is made out of) and was designed to be up to knee height. It has a rough texture to it which is due to it's age and it has four legs, however each leg is angled from the top of the table to the ground which resembles a guy carrying a massive luggage above his head (except with four arms).
Of course my sister's bed was a replica of my bed and was located at the corner of the room, which so happened to be next to the door as well (the end of the bed that was next to the door).
Well that is enough of me sitting in my room all depressed. It was time to head out of this sullen atmosphere. It was time to head out to the one place which I did not want to visit (well at least, not yet). It was time to visit my Grandfather's funeral. I wore my suit and walked to the car. All was downhearted. It was rainy and it was not a day I would have enjoyed staying in my room doing nothing but have a breakdown in.
Dad drove us to the funeral and back. It was a depressing day.
When I got back to my room to get dressed, it was especially dark. I guess this is what it felt to be back from a funeral. As I took a step into my room, I slipped. I have managed to forget how smooth the wooden floor was since all I stepped on for the entire day was the floor tiles of the church and in the cemetery. Anyway, the atmosphere was still too gloomy for me to feel much pain, so I got back up and then I stubbed my toe against my desk's sharp legs. It was a very hard surface and I finally felt pain rush through my legs. After that incident, I then hopped onto my bed which had a bakugan cover on it as far as I remember. The same pillow which was drenched is all dried up now and felt crunchy to the touch. It didn't feel like the usual soft touch that it gave as I placed my face on it. I didn't care, I just wanted this day to be over. No, this week.
A few weeks passed and I finally settled down, the atmosphere changed a bit and it finally felt ok to have people over. My cousins came over and we talked about recent events that happened in the world (all while lying down on my bed). We enjoyed food and drinks on the bed (because that's our favourite place to sit on and just talk). We would then have random opportunities to have pillow fights which would sometimes break one of the planks which carries the thin mattress. This would be done by me who usually slams my cousins hard enough with a hard pillow which is hard enough to push them on the bed with enough force to break the planks (hehehe). As you can imagine we had a lot of fun times in my room.
Time flew by and the sadness had completely disappeared from my room. Everyone was smiling again and me and my cousins continued to play games for most of the week. We would even do the occasional sleepover which was when I had my best memories with, especially whenever we played darkroom. We would hide all over the room, from under the beds and the desk, to behind the curtains and door. We would hide everywhere.
It is memories like these which is why my bedroom is so significant to me. It's what made me who I am (due to the people have spent time with) and it's why I smile everyday. If I did not spend time with my family in my room, I don't think my life would be as memorable as it is today.
My room was the only place with a bit of colour; in front of my bed was a brown wooden desk with curved edges (on top) which carried me through all the tough times of college; a hanger to it's left to hold my pyjamas and most importantly, my clothes for what I am about to wear the following day. The hanger was always interesting to me. It had smooth wooden branches sticking out of it for the clothes, but what was most interesting was that it felt like it was meant to be there. If this hanger was to be moved around the house, it wouldn't look natural.
Right in-between my bed and my sister's be was a little table where we would place our water bottles before bed in case either of us felt thirsty. This small table was made out of wood (like what everything is made out of) and was designed to be up to knee height. It has a rough texture to it which is due to it's age and it has four legs, however each leg is angled from the top of the table to the ground which resembles a guy carrying a massive luggage above his head (except with four arms).
Of course my sister's bed was a replica of my bed and was located at the corner of the room, which so happened to be next to the door as well (the end of the bed that was next to the door).
Well that is enough of me sitting in my room all depressed. It was time to head out of this sullen atmosphere. It was time to head out to the one place which I did not want to visit (well at least, not yet). It was time to visit my Grandfather's funeral. I wore my suit and walked to the car. All was downhearted. It was rainy and it was not a day I would have enjoyed staying in my room doing nothing but have a breakdown in.
Dad drove us to the funeral and back. It was a depressing day.
When I got back to my room to get dressed, it was especially dark. I guess this is what it felt to be back from a funeral. As I took a step into my room, I slipped. I have managed to forget how smooth the wooden floor was since all I stepped on for the entire day was the floor tiles of the church and in the cemetery. Anyway, the atmosphere was still too gloomy for me to feel much pain, so I got back up and then I stubbed my toe against my desk's sharp legs. It was a very hard surface and I finally felt pain rush through my legs. After that incident, I then hopped onto my bed which had a bakugan cover on it as far as I remember. The same pillow which was drenched is all dried up now and felt crunchy to the touch. It didn't feel like the usual soft touch that it gave as I placed my face on it. I didn't care, I just wanted this day to be over. No, this week.
A few weeks passed and I finally settled down, the atmosphere changed a bit and it finally felt ok to have people over. My cousins came over and we talked about recent events that happened in the world (all while lying down on my bed). We enjoyed food and drinks on the bed (because that's our favourite place to sit on and just talk). We would then have random opportunities to have pillow fights which would sometimes break one of the planks which carries the thin mattress. This would be done by me who usually slams my cousins hard enough with a hard pillow which is hard enough to push them on the bed with enough force to break the planks (hehehe). As you can imagine we had a lot of fun times in my room.
Time flew by and the sadness had completely disappeared from my room. Everyone was smiling again and me and my cousins continued to play games for most of the week. We would even do the occasional sleepover which was when I had my best memories with, especially whenever we played darkroom. We would hide all over the room, from under the beds and the desk, to behind the curtains and door. We would hide everywhere.
It is memories like these which is why my bedroom is so significant to me. It's what made me who I am (due to the people have spent time with) and it's why I smile everyday. If I did not spend time with my family in my room, I don't think my life would be as memorable as it is today.
Writer's thoughts:
The first draft was a real challenge. I had to pick a place at which I called home. That was a serious issue as I had lived in 3 different countries before I finally settled at the university of Texas A&M in Qatar.