My room, me

My room, my world. My room, me. My room named Room.

Room is like me. She likes to stay shut. No, don’t get her wrong. Room likes other rooms too. But Room is scared. Scared that if she opens her door, the dust and germs from other rooms will invade her and make her icky and dirty. Oh no, Room is not squeaky clean herself. She has her own ick and dirt, they are her own. But Room doesn’t want to breathe the dust and germs from other rooms. That makes her sneeze. But Room never learns her lesson. Every now and then, on a thoughtless, euphoria-laced experimental spree, she decides to throw her door open to other rooms. Room always regrets it in the end. Because, beneath her hard-as-oak exterior, she is really a naïve Bird-brain. Room can’t tell the good rooms from the bad, rotten ones. There are rooms that seem so spotless and clean and lined with interesting artifacts. Room is enamoured. She starts to think, ‘hey, here’s a roomie I could like!’ But before she knows it, clean, spotless, lined-with-artifacts room has pooed and puked all over Room. Clean room leaves a stinky mess that takes so long to air out, Room starts to forget what it is like to breathe her own smell- the smell that is made of books, Chinese food, silence and Lemon air freshener.

Promptly, Bird-brain Room shuts herself out. ‘Closed’, her door reads. And while she broods and adds another element to her olfactory repertoire- the smell of ‘forever-occupied’- dappled, dirty room, who smells of beer, smoke and all-things-evil-and-dangerous-and-fun, comes knocking. Room pretends she’s not there. But dappled, dirty room knows she’s there, because, well, she’s right there. At one point, Room opens her door, because she can’t take the noise of the knocking. She opens, a tad, just a sliver of a creek. And dappled, dirty room is standing there, saying, ‘are you done brooding, roomie?’ Room sniffs and retorts with self-importance and self-pity, ‘leave me be. Can’t you see the ‘Closed’ sign?’ Dappled, dirty room says ‘no, I don’t see things I don’t want to see. Now be sensible and open your door. Not all rooms are all bad, ya know?’ Room is touched by her unlikely roomie’s concern, and she smiles a small, watery smile through the creek. A few moments later, Room shuts herself again. She won’t get pooed and puked on again. She will never open Door again. Never, ever, ever. Because, Room is Bird-brain.

Room is not Bird-brain always, though. She learns things. For instance, she has learnt that there are some rooms, like the entertainment room. He promises nothing but fun, nothing less. ‘Nothing more, baby’. Room is accustomed to entertainment room now. She also knows that there are intimidating rooms that have stone doors that refuse to budge even when you use a steamroller. But tickle her in the right place, and she will fling open her doors with a delighted ‘whoop’! Then there are rooms like dappled, dirty room, that all Victorian-tight-upper-lipped rooms warn you about. Room now knows that while the Victorian-tight-upper-lipped rooms have the smelliest, germ-infested, poo-plastered underbellies, dappled, dirty room is so airy and carefree inside, once you care to, err, dare to, enter. Then, there is squeaky-clean room. He is Room’s potent shot of all-things-wholesome-and-nice-and-warm. Squeaky-clean room is all hers, she takes him for granted. But, it is the rooms that are like herself that Room has all the trouble with. Room never understands them. Room doesn’t truly understand herself.

But, Room discovers something new about herself every day. There are cobwebs under the dresser that she needs to memorise. They are ick and dirt, but they are her own ick and dirt. There are little crevices between the shoe rack and cabinet, where, if she just strains harder to look, she will find old memories tossed about carelessly. They might make her smile. Then, there is window. Room is protective about Window because she is the window to her soul and she doesn’t want any peeking Tom Cats. But Room knows when she decides to open shop ultimately, she will start with opening Window. From the little opening of Window, she will observe World and learn and learn, till she is wise and witty. And wily too. One fine day, Room will throw open her door. And she will be the finest Room that ever was. Sparkling, wall-hardened, window-strong and smelling of lemongrass, basil and books, she will stand the test of time.

My room, my world. My room, me. My room named Room.

PS- The name Room for my room was inspired by Emma Donoghue's Room, one of the most uplifting books I've read in recent times.