When I returned home from a study abroad this summer, I was welcomed with a huge bow on the door to my new room at my dad's house and a look of happy anticipation on his face. I opened the door and was surprised to see that my new room was an attempted replica of my beloved old one. At the time I left my room was a bland white box stuffed with all the things I'd frenetically tossed in during the move and let gather dust in the months since. We'd moved during my spring break at the end of March and beginning of April when I felt like Atlas with the weight of the world welting my narrow shoulders. The winter quarter had been immensely difficult due to a heavy course load, being hospitalized for pneumonia, and the death of two dear friends, one by suicide in our dorm. All I wanted to do over Spring Break was heal. I returned home on March 25 and was told that our gorgeous house full of charm and years of memories on one of the most scenic and lovely streets in our city had been sold, and we were moving the next day. I basically reacted like a feral cat trapped in a trash can.
I'd been hired by the company I'd interned for the previous summer to work on a project with them while I was home on spring break, so while other girls were going wild on the beach or enjoying a rejuvenating respite I was in an office from 9 to 6. When I came home those evenings the absolute last thing I wanted to do was pack up the room that I loved. Though I'd begun to outgrow the decor of the space I still adored it. Our house was a huge Craftsman built for an innovative tycoon who've moved into the area when it was still just occupied with views. My room had originally been the master suite, though it was considerably smaller than ones built today. The main part of the room was fairly small, and I'd rag-painted it a vibrant leaf green to mimic some of my favorite paintings of the Giverny Gardens by Monet. I'd painted winding vines with hummingbirds and skylarks perched above flowering buds. I had a hanging mobile that kids I'd volunteered with teaching arts and crafts had made for me. There was a little hallway to the side of the main room connecting it to an alcove space that originally been a dressing room and had become my "office," a bathroom with the original tiles, and room intended to be a nursery that I'd converted into a lounge space. Everything in the room reflected my personality during the years I'd lived in it. If the walls could talk they'd give you the history of my late childhood and adolescence. All my youth seemed to be in that space, and I wasn't ready to leave it.
Unbeknownst to me, my dad had taken several pictures of my room before I returned home. He generously tolerated me as I acted in an intolerably sullen way during the move. I basically ripped things off walls and hangers, threw them into boxes, and sulkily hauled them into my new room. This is one of the reasons I feel all the more touched by his actions. When I opened the door that day in July I saw that he and my stepmom had thoughtfully taken all the books and trinkets out of the boxes and arranged them precisely as they had been before. All clothes were neatly hung in the closets. My hot pink gaming chair that I never used for gaming but instead used when I'm playing my guitars had been plucked out of the garage where it had been abandoned, cleaned off, and put in my room. All my instruments were hanging on my walls, along with my old posters and art. He even put my massive cork board filled with some of the ribbons and certificates I'd accumulated in high school, concert ticket stubs, "inspiration," sketches, schedules and reminders up. The painters were supposed to paint the room "Lark Green" by Sherwin Williams, but mistakingly grabbed a garish green instead. It looks like they got buckets of slime from Nickelodeon and tossed them onto the walls. I really hate the color. It's almost blindingly bright and disharmonious with relaxing. I think I'm ready to take the posters and the cork board down, and perhaps replace the gaming chair with a real one. Thankfully, the purple duvet that was inspired by Bella Swan's in the first Twilight movie (which I hated, but I loved her room in it!) has been replaced. I'd been hesitant to mention to my dad my desire to make changes in my room because I have such an enormous amount of affection and appreciation for the sweetness of his and my stepmom's efforts to make it my home. I'm not in love with the room, but I am in love with the love that went into putting it together.
This is the main part of the old room right before the furniture was moved out. We'd already removed the rugs and drapes.
New Room the day I got home from Europe:
I hadn't planned on making dramatic changes to my room due to wanting to keep it the way my parents had put it together for me along with a lack of time, but then while redoing my room at my mom's place this week my dad asked me if I'd like to revamp this one as well. I'm returning to school soon, so I won't be able to do too much before then, but we're going shopping this weekend for new items, and painters are coming in next week. I'm excited about the possibilities. I feel like the room is symbolic of the transitions I've made in my life.
This is the inspiration board I have for it:
I'd been hired by the company I'd interned for the previous summer to work on a project with them while I was home on spring break, so while other girls were going wild on the beach or enjoying a rejuvenating respite I was in an office from 9 to 6. When I came home those evenings the absolute last thing I wanted to do was pack up the room that I loved. Though I'd begun to outgrow the decor of the space I still adored it. Our house was a huge Craftsman built for an innovative tycoon who've moved into the area when it was still just occupied with views. My room had originally been the master suite, though it was considerably smaller than ones built today. The main part of the room was fairly small, and I'd rag-painted it a vibrant leaf green to mimic some of my favorite paintings of the Giverny Gardens by Monet. I'd painted winding vines with hummingbirds and skylarks perched above flowering buds. I had a hanging mobile that kids I'd volunteered with teaching arts and crafts had made for me. There was a little hallway to the side of the main room connecting it to an alcove space that originally been a dressing room and had become my "office," a bathroom with the original tiles, and room intended to be a nursery that I'd converted into a lounge space. Everything in the room reflected my personality during the years I'd lived in it. If the walls could talk they'd give you the history of my late childhood and adolescence. All my youth seemed to be in that space, and I wasn't ready to leave it.
Unbeknownst to me, my dad had taken several pictures of my room before I returned home. He generously tolerated me as I acted in an intolerably sullen way during the move. I basically ripped things off walls and hangers, threw them into boxes, and sulkily hauled them into my new room. This is one of the reasons I feel all the more touched by his actions. When I opened the door that day in July I saw that he and my stepmom had thoughtfully taken all the books and trinkets out of the boxes and arranged them precisely as they had been before. All clothes were neatly hung in the closets. My hot pink gaming chair that I never used for gaming but instead used when I'm playing my guitars had been plucked out of the garage where it had been abandoned, cleaned off, and put in my room. All my instruments were hanging on my walls, along with my old posters and art. He even put my massive cork board filled with some of the ribbons and certificates I'd accumulated in high school, concert ticket stubs, "inspiration," sketches, schedules and reminders up. The painters were supposed to paint the room "Lark Green" by Sherwin Williams, but mistakingly grabbed a garish green instead. It looks like they got buckets of slime from Nickelodeon and tossed them onto the walls. I really hate the color. It's almost blindingly bright and disharmonious with relaxing. I think I'm ready to take the posters and the cork board down, and perhaps replace the gaming chair with a real one. Thankfully, the purple duvet that was inspired by Bella Swan's in the first Twilight movie (which I hated, but I loved her room in it!) has been replaced. I'd been hesitant to mention to my dad my desire to make changes in my room because I have such an enormous amount of affection and appreciation for the sweetness of his and my stepmom's efforts to make it my home. I'm not in love with the room, but I am in love with the love that went into putting it together.
This is the main part of the old room right before the furniture was moved out. We'd already removed the rugs and drapes.
New Room the day I got home from Europe:
I hadn't planned on making dramatic changes to my room due to wanting to keep it the way my parents had put it together for me along with a lack of time, but then while redoing my room at my mom's place this week my dad asked me if I'd like to revamp this one as well. I'm returning to school soon, so I won't be able to do too much before then, but we're going shopping this weekend for new items, and painters are coming in next week. I'm excited about the possibilities. I feel like the room is symbolic of the transitions I've made in my life.
This is the inspiration board I have for it:
