Rooms I Have Had
In total, I’ve lived in thirteen different dorm rooms.
I moved away to school when I was fourteen years old. My parents helped me with my bags and bedding and books and they stood, hovering, nervous, and smiling as I met my first roommate. After my bed was made and my clothes were hung and my desk was arranged, they left. I sat in my unfamiliar, tiny and cramped room and I wondered what to put on the walls.
That room marked the first in a series of transitory homes, enclaves, dens, and nests that I have made. Each year it’s the same- you’re given a blank canvas and, through the passage of time defined largely through weekends, papers, tests, and youthful heartache, you fill it in. You make it your own.
However, along with the start comes the inevitable close- the removal of posters and tacks and tape from the walls, the sorting and chucking of papers scattered and piled haphazardly for lack of a proper home, and the impossible task of packing up Christmas tree lights in a somewhat-tame fashion.
For me, this year makes the beginning of the end. My comfortable pattern of moving in and moving out is coming to a close, and today I start my final turn around this metaphorical track. After this will come a string of bad apartments, nice apartments, enviable apartments, live in boyfriends, houses, and, eventually, a home. No more will I live, turtle-like with my whole world able to fit and stow away in stackable clear plastic bins and a bright yellow duffle bag. No more will I move in with the Fall and out with the Summer, and no more will my futon take up temporary residence in my parents’ living room for lack of space in the basement.
I’ve packed and unpacked thirteen different nests over the past eight years, but after these next nine months, my time is up and it’s someone else’s turn.
As I type, the full moon is slowly creeping up over the main quad of my campus, and the purples and blues of night are starting to saturate the horizon. Maybe it’s just a combination of hormones and nostalgia, but the last three years I’ve spent at my college have been the best years of my life. I’ve had more opportunity and education than I could have dreamed coming in as a first-year, and to those of you reading this essay in your own versions of unfamiliar and tiny blank rooms, please make the most of your short time in the ‘Cac. Work hard, play fair, and be happy. Above all, follow your passions – it will serve you well.
Perin Adams is a senior at Trinity College