It began in high school.  Before I realized that anyone thought that place was important.  At that point we had moved 3 times already.  I didn’t know what it was like to grow up or stay in one place.  My life was on the move.  If we weren’t moving to a new location we were vacationing.  When we were between homes my family of five lived in cramped Temporary Living Quarters or hotel rooms.  To me place was where ever the Air Force told my father to work.  But in high school I began using the phrase, “I just want to go home”.  I would use it all the time.  Even in my own house.  I began to realize that home was a specific place.  Not just the place where my house was but also a specific place within the house.  That “home” was my room, mostly my bed.  But back then my bed took up all of the space in my room.  I shared the tiny English room with my sister.  Between our beds were a desk and a wardrobe.  The only floor space was the walkway in front of the closet to the other side of the room.  With space at a premium my room, my home, was my bed.  Since then my room space has expanded and so has my furniture.  I now have a larger wardrobe, a functional desk, bookshelves, decorative shelves, a dresser, storage space and many electrical appliances.

Of course whatever is in the room I occupy is not the important part, at least concerning furniture.  I didn’t realize the importance of my personal items until I moved to England, without my family, in 2002.  I had already lived out of my house for a year but I got to see my family regularly.  When I went to England I only took my clothes and the few other things that could fit in my suitcase.  Again I shared a room with my best friend.  The space was tinier.  Even with the bunk beds after 4 months there wasn’t much space.  But all of that I didn’t mind.  The real problem wasn’t the space this time.  This time it was the fact that I had nothing of my own.  I had no pictures of my family, no books, no movies, no toys, no possessions.  I had nothing but myself.  Soon my room became only a place for sleeping.  Over the course of the year I collected items.  Knick Knacks and gifts that truly made my room my own.  But I still had no family or friends photographs.  When I moved into the dorm I knew what I wanted.  Pictures, tons of pictures, everywhere.

Next to writing, my room is the truest expression of myself.  Immediatly as you enter my room you can discern many things about me: you can tell my favorite color is pink, you can see my intrigue with unicorns, fairies, and Orlando Bloom, by the state of my bed you can see how rushed I was when I awoke, from my pictures you can tell I have traveled, and by the floor you can see how stressed I am. When I rearrange or move my room it is like I am changing myself.  There is a sadness and a happiness for the future in that action.  And always when I am in my room, I may be alone but at the same time I am surrounded by friends and family and all other manner of my favorite things.