When Christmas came it was 15 degrees Celsius. When Christmas ended the temperature was 30 degrees lower.
When Christmas came nature was grey. After Christmas it is still snowing, snowing, snowing on roads, houses, cars and trees. I went out to see how snow looks and came back into my cozy room.
I haven’t left my room much these days. I like it here. After being on the road for thousands of miles, here I am, in the house of my childhood, not wanting to move from my desk, my chair, my computer.
I spent many days and nights in my room, imagining my future. Now I’m writing more than ever, using words to find out who I am, what I love, where I want to go.
I wrote a little poem about my room which has been been waiting quietly in my computer to be published. Here it is:
In My Room
In my room I’m listening to sad songs and I am happy that I can be sad.
In my room, I crowded memorabilia since highschool. They sit together on shelves, crammed into cupboards, stacked in the corners.
In my room I write and don’t care if it makes sense. I let my mind wonder and stop and laugh and write again and become emotional and not feel bad about it.
I cried in my room. I still cry sometimes.
In my room I don’t care how people see me because I am the only one seeing myself.
In my room there’s no judgement, no gibberish, no hidden catch.
I’m my room I’m mine.
Small intrusions from family, pooh bears, lady bugs, puppets, feathers, flowers, grapes, avocado, stars, candles, perfumed sticks, photos, glass, clothes, armchair, bed, desk, cupboards, light. There you go, I just did an approximate inventory of my room.
My room is my mind. My mind is my room. Here is quiet, and my soul floats and my fingers type joyfully on the keyboard.
From my room I will send this text to the world.