The beauty of my bedroom if I have to put it in one word it’s indispensable for me. As much as I do not appreciate it, it is one true addiction of mine. I have always had a hard time adjusting to new beds, setups, charging points, new lamps, room cooling temperature, side tables, etc and the realization hits me the hardest every time I get back home to my bedroom after a long break.
And that is more or less a month or so, but this time it was 6. Oh yeah, I am home after 6 long crazy months of being in a lock-down amidst this never-ending pandemic. Ah alas, my space, my one true love (or at least that’s what I said when I walked in).
I feel its all the more valuable to come back into your comfort bubble if you have been living in a complete culture shock. The excitement of learning something new wears out pretty quickly than you actually thought it would. The whole idea of ‘I like to go to new places and learn new things and meet new people’ is only nice when we it’s in holidays. In any other scenario of let say settling, it’s very frustrating and I speak for myself only.
It’s from going to something new every day to oh it’s the same as yesterday in a shorter span than batting an eyelid. One day you love the whole newness, the other day you wanna murder yourself, all part of the same game.
This is not your constant stimulus. You’ll instantly be hit with that and you will feel it the most once you are back home. Because this is your bubble, your space, you built this madness for yourself. Nobody was a part of your dark secrets here, the ones you lived for the first time. The first cigarette, the first sneak out, the first BYOB (bring your own boyfriend), the first book, the first medal, the first sleepover, the first fight, the first heartache, the oh so many more firsts. There are so many firsts in this bedroom, that before anyone could see you happy, sad, frustrated, or broken, this place lived it with you when it was happening.
I mean how could anything ever replace this in your head, in mine it most definitely cannot. I am addicted to this place, to my home, to my bedroom, so much so, that if I could I would never leave from here, I wouldn’t. I own every good and bad memory of this room and had it not been with me, I would not know where to go to look for peace. This is my self-made safe haven, here I am my safe haven!
Mom I dropped quick and easy, like a ball of yarn three decades ago Your shadow has lingered on me since Your syllables, your voice, like an old audio cassette on loop Like my favourite soundtrack. You are the flying, shining, metal hard armour Wrapped in a heavenly flesh, that once was my abode. I’ve never once have had a blank static stretch Your tape reels have been all along in my frames. I’ll run blindly towards you, rolling down steep slopes To tell you something, everything, to unwind. To who you are what, regardless, You will always be the lamps of my street dark old town
I remember the first intimate battle of ours, the way you encroached each dark corner. You ensured the deliberate scars across my silhouette, Before I entirely surrendered my inhibiting dementia. To date – you incessantly visit, revisit, the same old hollow tombs and castles of my flesh, Hasn’t the anonymity of my egoistic calling saturated you enough, yet. Haven’t the walls, those that have been charged on to, remind you of the massacres we avoided, Saved so many the wrath that the unison would have bought. Mad as a hatter, they don’t just say it, Underneath this life long carpet would stay the mental Voldemorts. The rear gear of these sweat and fret nights, the ones that I replay in my head have overshadowed every possible ray of shine for my tomorrow, Oh such a beautiful wasteland you’ve turned me into… Worsened my soil to sow, But turned me into a picture perfect postcard!