If I was in trouble as a kid, my parents could never use the punishment of sending me to my room. I would like that too much.
In my room, integral parts of my life were waiting for me. My books were waiting to draw me into their stories, my iPod (or portable CD player in the early years) was waiting for me to pop the headphones on and let the rest of the world fade away, my laptop and TV in later years were waiting for me to engage in the ever-changing media world.
I have lived in the same house since I was six. Since then my room has been rearranged approximately a million times and the memorabilia on the walls has shifted, but one thing still taunts me from letting my 7-year-old self make decorating choices. Continue reading “A Message From My Pink Walls”