My dear room

Memories. It may mean bright happiness for one but also mean relentless pain for another. Pain has ruled my memories from the day of my birth. Not all of our memories are covered with a cozy blanket. For me, I can't remember the last time I felt the warmness of my memories.

Inside, my 4-walled room contained my etched memories. And still, I chose to go back there, even though I know the pain would be awaiting me at my doorstep. 

My room is not something remarkable, yet it is unforgettable as it has watched me over. It is a dark room where you can't find the light but a console. I thought everything would be over after my aunt's death, but that wasn't the case. The prime conflict of my life started after her demise. Surviving in this world is crueler than living with my aunt. Even though she verbally abused me and made me do all the chores, she gave me a roof. Regretting the way I thought about her won't bring her back to life. And so here I am at the doorstep of the last place I visited. Yet knowing that it would be painful to face, I chose to do so. It is not that I am not ready to fight my pain and move on, but it is just that I don't have time for it. 

Since childhood, the only word I am familiar with is pain, but my room helped me discover a new term called console. My room can't speak sweet words or pat me on my back, but I know it is alive as I can feel it. It watching me over is enough to define 'console' in my dictionary. It didn't ask me to step back as my classmates who bullied me did, nor did it ask me to fight back as my teachers did. Instead, it watched me over quietly. It watching me over itself has been a big console for me. Now, when I look back at it, memories started flooding over my head. People say memories are like a photo album. You can pick what photos you like to build the photo album you want, but I deny it. Because my memories don't have any good ones to pick up. You can't pick the good apples from a basket of rotten apples. 

My room looks just like any girl's room. It is par for the course, nothing out of the ordinary. But in my eyes, my room is the chamber of my heart. It encourages my soul to breathe. My room knows the count of teardrops that have fallen from my eyes. It knows how many sleepless nights I have had. It knows how many times I have screamed at my aunt, even though I end up doing what she wants. It knows the pain I faced from childhood better than anyone else. The favorite part of my room is the curtained open window. It is a silent watchman that watches my tears, but at the same time, it stands as a portal of light from which to see the world. The delicate white curtains were usually the replacement of tissues to wipe my tears. When the first tear has burst loose, the rest would eventually accompany in an unbroken rivulet. But when I tilt my head up and look beyond the laden screens, there is beautiful scenery. After viewing it, tears would finally stop as you want to focus on the beauty of the panorama. Maybe that is the reason the windowpane is the favorite part of my room. It makes me forget the pain, regardless I know it is transitory. 

Every part of my room plays a role for me, even the rustic ceiling. Whenever I crumble, I lay on my comfy little bed and look up as my eyes meet it. It looks as if it is looking me down, as I am below it. So I would stand up and scream, "Don't you dare look down at me,"

I know that I am being childish. But deep in my heart, I realized that I stopped weeping. I stopped crumbling like a child. The ceiling stopped me from crying just like the window did. Maybe, that is why I love my room even though I deny it. Even my cupboard acts up on me. It gets jammed when I kick it to relieve my stress. When I plead it and pat on it with care, it opens up. And, the anger inside me has disappeared too. Maybe it meant to be my curse to get a room that tortures me, but I exert it as a blessing as it stopped me from reminiscing about my pain, even though it is temporary.

My room didn't give me happiness, but it reduced my pain. I don't ask to be happy as I haven't experienced it, but instead, I just want my burdens to be reduced. I wish I hadn't explored much when I was six. I should have just locked my room and stay indoors without going out. I shouldn't have believed that there was a pretty world awaiting me. I shouldn't have got my hopes high. Maybe that is why I became depressed. Because I came to the lowest point of my life. Because I invested all my hope into the urge of coming out of the 4 closed walls. Had I realized the 4 closed walls would soon be my buddy, would I have decided not to explore? Would I have chosen to accept my fate and be quiet? 

Well, life is defined as complicated in my dictionary. I wish I could stay without pain in my room, even if it is a day. I wish I could put down my burden at least for a day. I want to see the world from a different view, with a bright smile on my face and a happy heart. But I can't. Had I noticed that my room was this beautiful to my eyes earlier, I wouldn't have chosen to exit from this world. Had I known it meant so much for me, till it made me make wishes for myself and be selfish for once just to be happy, I wouldn't have left it all alone in this dark world. I have seen my room plenty of times and even cursed at it, but when I look at it for the last time, I felt it is beautiful, and yet I chose to leave the world there. Knowing that it is beautiful had made me happy and fulfilled my only wish. I want to say I am smiling happily, but I can't, but I know it knows that I am smiling as I have chosen to leave the world. I chose to be selfish as it wished by leaving my burdens behind.

I am sorry, and thanks for making me notice that you are beautiful.

From Kyla.