Daily routines have become a part of me. From waking up and getting ready to hit the gym, I eat an omelette and dash out. Big smile on my face as I snatch my blue fabric backpack and water bottle and slide past the gate. First thing to see as you set foot into the club is the gym building. A good old peach coloured cube with a rough surface and basic clear windows (just like those you see in cartoons). Each glass pane is surrounded with an oak wood frame. I enter the building and immediately rush to the crossfit section. Pullups, pushups, leg raises, I did them all. The long metal bar felt as rough as ever, forming calluses on the palm of my hands everywhere. Small prickly paint spray acts as my grip which is what causes them whenever my hands move around them.
The heavy weights being slammed onto the ground bring music to my ears, as do the loud grunts the guys are doing (which reminds me of their power) just fills me to the rim with motivation.
This doesn’t happen anymore. Covid struck. Now I can’t enjoy my neighbourhood clubhouse anymore. I have to form a new supplement to my routine. Now all I do are body weight training exercises against my bed.
My Bedroom. It’s now a place where I do most things.
From the front of the door, to going around my world and back, till the end of the day. I have accomplished a lot in my bedroom. From playing video games and doing homework; to practicing my guitar and exercising throughout the day, I did most things in my room.
Days have 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. It is MY place. It is the place I jump onto whenever I come back from an outing, it is the place where I lay down to think about my life (as I stare at the blue coloured ceiling), and it is the place where me and a my cousins would sit on and just lie belly face on the mattress and just talk about any topic that came onto mind.
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 carry my pyjamas from when I wake up till the time I sleep. Most importantly, it carried the 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 hangar was to be moved around the house, it wouldn't look natural. The fact that this candle has been there longer than I have is already a factor to why it’s precious to me. Just knowing that it hasn’t broken down after constantly using it is what makes me so attached to it and is why that place in my room is specifically meant for that hanger (and for nothing else).
Right in-between my bed and my sister's bed 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 furniture 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).
Time to get to the main event for the next day. Time to explain what that significant piece of clothing on my hanger was for. It was time to head out to 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 either with this sadness engulfing me.
I wouldn’t like the idea of not attending my grandfather’s funeral, it would seem disrespectful. It would have been an insult to him as he was the one who sat and did maths with me on the desk in my room. He was the one who taught me how to play ping pong too.
Dad drove us to the funeral and back. It was sombre.
When I got back to my room to get back into my pyjamas, 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 (a cartoon I like) 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 room managed to stay intact all this time and kept me whole. My bed which carried me through the sad nights; my desk which held my laptop tried to keep me entertained was still intact; the small table which kept all the water bottles and the wet tissues is still intact. Everything stayed as it was before and after the funeral. At least I have my room to be there for me.
A few more days passed and all of a sudden my cousins came over at a family gathering. We talked about recent events that happened in the world as we laid on the bed. Sometimes we brought up the topic of our romance life, sometimes we brought up plans for exciting places that we would like to visit. We spoke all night. We then 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 just like a breeze blowing a tree subtly. It is now the end of the room (that has become a popular hotspot for me and my cousins). It is time for me to travel to another country to pursue my further education. It was a tough decision for me and my family as we have to leave many things behind.
However, I will always remember my bedroom as it holds a special place in my heart. It kept me sane in the hard times I’ve been through. As well as keeping me and my cousins entertained. From bodyweight exercises, to experiencing heart-breaking situations, to enjoying quality family time; my room was always there for me. I still visit it from time to time, however the frequency has decreased to a month every year for my holidays, and that’s fine with me.
The heavy weights being slammed onto the ground bring music to my ears, as do the loud grunts the guys are doing (which reminds me of their power) just fills me to the rim with motivation.
This doesn’t happen anymore. Covid struck. Now I can’t enjoy my neighbourhood clubhouse anymore. I have to form a new supplement to my routine. Now all I do are body weight training exercises against my bed.
My Bedroom. It’s now a place where I do most things.
From the front of the door, to going around my world and back, till the end of the day. I have accomplished a lot in my bedroom. From playing video games and doing homework; to practicing my guitar and exercising throughout the day, I did most things in my room.
Days have 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. It is MY place. It is the place I jump onto whenever I come back from an outing, it is the place where I lay down to think about my life (as I stare at the blue coloured ceiling), and it is the place where me and a my cousins would sit on and just lie belly face on the mattress and just talk about any topic that came onto mind.
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 carry my pyjamas from when I wake up till the time I sleep. Most importantly, it carried the 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 hangar was to be moved around the house, it wouldn't look natural. The fact that this candle has been there longer than I have is already a factor to why it’s precious to me. Just knowing that it hasn’t broken down after constantly using it is what makes me so attached to it and is why that place in my room is specifically meant for that hanger (and for nothing else).
Right in-between my bed and my sister's bed 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 furniture 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).
Time to get to the main event for the next day. Time to explain what that significant piece of clothing on my hanger was for. It was time to head out to 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 either with this sadness engulfing me.
I wouldn’t like the idea of not attending my grandfather’s funeral, it would seem disrespectful. It would have been an insult to him as he was the one who sat and did maths with me on the desk in my room. He was the one who taught me how to play ping pong too.
Dad drove us to the funeral and back. It was sombre.
When I got back to my room to get back into my pyjamas, 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 (a cartoon I like) 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 room managed to stay intact all this time and kept me whole. My bed which carried me through the sad nights; my desk which held my laptop tried to keep me entertained was still intact; the small table which kept all the water bottles and the wet tissues is still intact. Everything stayed as it was before and after the funeral. At least I have my room to be there for me.
A few more days passed and all of a sudden my cousins came over at a family gathering. We talked about recent events that happened in the world as we laid on the bed. Sometimes we brought up the topic of our romance life, sometimes we brought up plans for exciting places that we would like to visit. We spoke all night. We then 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 just like a breeze blowing a tree subtly. It is now the end of the room (that has become a popular hotspot for me and my cousins). It is time for me to travel to another country to pursue my further education. It was a tough decision for me and my family as we have to leave many things behind.
However, I will always remember my bedroom as it holds a special place in my heart. It kept me sane in the hard times I’ve been through. As well as keeping me and my cousins entertained. From bodyweight exercises, to experiencing heart-breaking situations, to enjoying quality family time; my room was always there for me. I still visit it from time to time, however the frequency has decreased to a month every year for my holidays, and that’s fine with me.