If you asked my parents where I spend most of my time, they'd probably laugh and say,
"Her room."
And they're not wrong.
I'm 15, so my room is basically my whole world.
It's where I do homework (or at least pretend to), cry over math tests, laugh way too hard with my friends on FaceTime, blast music while cleaning, and stay up way too late reading when I'm supposed to be asleep.
It's not a huge room.
It isn't Pinterest-perfect.
But somehow, it's my favorite place in the world.
I don't think anyone else would decorate my room the way I do.
There's a giant hoodie hanging on the back of my chair that never actually makes it into my closet.
My bookshelf has more random little trinkets than books.
I have dried flowers in an old glass bottle because I thought they looked pretty.
There's a tiny moon-shaped lamp that makes everything feel softer at night.
None of it matches.
But somehow it all belongs together.
Kind of like me.
My favorite days are when it's raining outside.
I'll crack my window open just enough to hear the rain.
I'll wrap myself in my favorite blanket, make hot chocolate, and put on the same playlist I've probably listened to a hundred times.
The room feels quieter.
Slower.
Like the rest of the world can wait for a little while.
Those are the days I feel the most at peace.
Homework?
On my bed.
Watching movies?
On my bed.
Drawing?
On my bed.
Texting my friends?
Definitely on my bed.
Sometimes I'll spread all my notebooks out even though I'm only using one.
It somehow makes me feel productive.
I don't even turn on the big ceiling light anymore.
It's way too bright.
Instead, I turn on my lamp, my fairy lights, or a little candle if my mom's home.
Everything instantly feels warmer.
I don't know why soft lighting makes such a difference.
It just does.
I don't write in it every day.
Sometimes I forget about it for a week.
Other times I'll write three pages in one night.
It's full of random things.
Conversations I don't want to forget.
Movie recommendations.
Lists of baby names I'll probably never use.
Things I hope happen someday.
Bad days.
Really good days.
Looking back through old pages is kind of like meeting an older version of myself.
There's almost always something playing.
Sometimes it's indie music.
Sometimes lo-fi.
Sometimes songs I've had on repeat for months.
Lately, I've also been listening to a personalized audio I made with a subliminal generator.
I wanted something that focused on confidence and feeling more comfortable being myself, instead of using random affirmations that didn't really sound like me.
Now I usually let it play quietly while I'm cleaning my room, journaling, or getting ready for bed.
It isn't something I think about much anymore.
It's just become part of the atmosphere, like my fairy lights or favorite playlist.
This probably sounds impossible for someone my age.
Trust me, I didn't think I'd do it either.
But every once in a while, I'll leave my phone on my desk instead of bringing it into bed with me.
At first I didn't know what to do.
Now I'll read a few chapters of a book.
Sketch random doodles.
Write in my journal.
Or just stare out the window while it's raining.
It turns out being bored isn't actually that bad.
This room has seen me before school dances when I couldn't decide what to wear.
It's seen me crying after arguments with friends.
It's seen me jumping around because I got a better grade than I expected.
It's seen late-night dance parties with my little sister.
It's seen me trying hairstyles that looked... questionable.
Somehow it holds all those memories without saying anything.
When school feels overwhelming...
I come here.
When I need to think...
I come here.
When I'm excited about something...
I come here first.
Even if I just need five quiet minutes, I know I can close my door, put on music, and breathe.
That feeling is hard to explain.
It's not just a bedroom.
It's the one place where I don't feel like I have to be anyone except myself.
If Pinterest taught me anything, it's that there will always be someone with a prettier room.
Better furniture.
More expensive decorations.
Perfect white bedding.
But honestly?
I don't want my room to look like someone else's anymore.
I want it to look like mine.
A little messy.
A little cozy.
A little random.
Filled with things that make me smile.
Because at the end of the day, my favorite place in the world isn't my room because it's beautiful.
It's my favorite place because it's where I feel the most like me.
And I wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.
