Write a 300-word description of your bedroom. Think about the items you have or the other elements of your room that give the best clues about who you are or who you want others to think you are.
“What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t, you feel even worse.”
~ J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 1
The desk drawers are bare and the closet is nearly empty, save for a few button-downs I want to keep wrinkle free and a jacket that is way too puffy to fit in any of the bags… whatever will I do with that jacket? When I first unloaded my few belongings in this room, exactly ten months ago, the foam green walls gave me headaches and that jacket was not yet mine, it hung at some sports store in a mall, waiting for the June winter to arrive so the jacket could find me. Those days have come-and-gone, today it’s a beaming 92 degrees outside, but my next move is to a city already sprinkled in light snow and tormented by biting winds — the jacket is a nuisance today, come next week it will be a blessing.
Three bags tossed onto their portion of the wood floor might not be enough luggage for all I’ve amassed during my stay. One is to the brim filled, and circled by six pair of shoes that somehow will have to make their fit inside — two pairs of brown J.Crew boots, one leather and the other suede, two pairs of boat-shoes, both also a shade of brown and also from J.Crew, some alpargatas, and the now beaten-off-white Puma indoor cleats. The second bag is patiently waiting to be weighed down by books split into “read” and “not read” piles. The third, the smaller of the three, adorned with a print of the world all around, still an uncertainty whether it will be use or not; the four stacks of clothes left to pack away might not fit inside… actually they most certainly will not fit inside. If only my trip back would be as brief as the fifteen stitchings between Argentina and New York on the face of this globe.
A thick, wooden, queen-sized bed fitted into one corner of the room, its hand-me-down green sheets bleeding into the walls. A work desk rolled into another corner, a printer and a desk chair completing the team, the Chewbacca bobble-head nodding on, waiting to be packed away. And the old armoire, which used to belong to my great-grandmother, against a wall — the ancient wood a sturdy trunk against the green leaves of the wall. All the furniture stays, leaving remnants of what grew here these months, keeping the memories of their use to themselves. First come, first served, forgetting the past owners, moving on like everything else in this room.
– Nahuel F.A.