My concept of home has apparently extended to my room in college. I am very well aware of the fact that it is, and will always be, purely a transitory dwelling for me, for my departure is certain and inevitable, and thus I will never be able to truly claim ownership of it - the same goes with just about everything else in this world, I suppose - but somehow somewhere along the process, it has already become mine, even without being mine. I may be able to remove traces of dried glue and black ink on the study table, or peel away the residues from the strips of cellophane tapes I used to secure bits and pieces of articles from and relating to the ones I love, or even remove absolutely everything that could serve as a physical representation of my presence in that room, and simply strip the space right down to its barest state, but I will, without a doubt, leave something behind: I feel as though I have left permanent and indelible traces, imprints, and ripples of my thoughts and my feelings on its walls and windows, on its ceiling and its cupboards, and though those traces, imprints, and ripples might be invisible to future occupants of the room as they remain oblivious to and unaware of my existence in this world and my history there, and, at the same time, begin to create and leave such marks of their own in that room, parts of myself will almost always remain, perhaps for many more years to come.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Jun 2013 03:26:47 +0000