Room.

A small, squared room. It was filled with possessions from both my sister and I. Two beds, obviously one for each one of us. There was a small green table in the middle of our two beds and it was decorated with objects of my liking. A candle from Walmart with the White Cotton fresh scent. Next to that there was a small cactus I had bought at Home Depot for like five bucks. It had a pink flower on top of it, which by the way, took me several months to realize that it was fake. On the west wall of our bedroom my father had constructed two wall closets with mirror doors, one for each one of us. Between the two closets was a small section that was designed for our TV, Playstation 3, movies, books, etc. The walls were a nasty egg-yolk-yellow color that I had always detested…yellow is my least favorite color. But my sister and mom had picked it out and thought that the green color I had chosen was even uglier. To make the room a little bit more appealing, I had decided to hang up some lights around the ceiling. You can get them right after the holidays for a cheaper price, it’s a great deal. So here I was standing in this little box that I spent most of my time in, yet this time was different. There was something missing but the room hadn’t changed at all. I laid in my bed alone, sat up and it was just so quiet and still. I felt lonely yet at the same time I felt joy and freedom. I no longer heard, “Turn off the lights!!!” whenever she was ready to go to bed. My sister had moved out and moved into college. The squared box was now all mine five days of the week. It later became several weeks at a time. I learned to live in there by myself. I had to adjust to sleeping there alone because even though I sometimes hated sharing the room with her, I had never slept in there by myself. I was honestly scared of the dark at 13 years old because you don’t know what’s in the darkness. So yes, it was a struggle at first but boy did I get used to it and loved it. I redecorated the room so it was more of my style. It took maybe like two years to finally convince my mom and sister to paint the room a soft gray and cover that puke-yellow color I had to look at every single day. I spent even more time in my room than I had ever before. It was my spot. I felt comfortable and safe in there, it was like my home at home. But not everything nice lasts forever. Four years later, guess who moved in again? Yes, my sister. I had to give up my freedom of being able to stay up until 3:00am watching Netflix during the summer. Not going to lie, it was hard to accept and it still is. I struggle with not getting frustrated that the room is not clean (yes, I am a clean freak) because I know that she has different ways of viewing things and living styles. Having a messy room does not bother her so she doesn’t care if it’s messy or not. But here we are, both her and I, inside these four walls.