This was previously published in our October 2024 issue.
The moment you walk into my room, you’ll know that I am unquestionably, unabashedly odd. Comics cover my shelves, posters stare down at you from every angle, and half-finished drawings are haphazardly pasted to walls in awkward places. If you try to sit down on my bed, you’ll find yourself buried in stuffed animals picked up from small shops shoved in the back of the mall. Look at my bookshelf, and the eyes of a mismatched collection of vinyl figures will stare back at you.
According to my minimalist mom, this room is a cluttered assortment of non sense, only made worse by my utter lack of organization (though she says this with affection). To me, this room is a reflection of everything that makes me unique.
This time of year especially, I find myself spending more and more time in my private sanctuary, whether I’m curled on my bed wooing Haley in Stardew Valley, or hunched over my desk crafting a Dungeons & Dragons campaign for my friends. Primarily, I’m simply retreating from the stress of school life, but another part of me is clinging to the colorful haven that is my room.
In 8th grade, I found myself trapped between a love for the geeky and unorthodox and the desperate need to belong in which most teens find themselves entangled. My room wasn’t a sanctuary then; the walls were drab and gray, broken only by decorations I had deemed ‘normal’ enough to adorn a bedroom with.
More nights than not, I’d find myself lying on my twin-sized bed, listening to whatever my latest musical obsession was. As I stared up at the glow-in-the dark stars pasted to my ceiling—some of the few relics that had survived my initial room overhaul— I distinctly remember wondering if this was who I was now: a boring kid, in a boring room, with a boring life, doomed to be a pencil pusher at some drab company in my hometown. That wasn’t who I wanted to be, but lying there as the sun crept below the horizon, this kid who wasn’t me accepted their fate and went to sleep, resolving that things would never get better.
When I came to EHS, it felt like stepping into a different world. I joined The Stinger, made new friends, lost some old ones, and generally grew up. I abandoned the people who stared at me with disgust. Instead, I excitedly rambled about my latest fixation, and welcomed those I had previously shunned for being “too weird” for me to associate with.
As all this happened, I found myself exploring my interests more and more, and my room began to reflect who I was, not who I thought I needed to be. I painted my walls green instead of the soul-sucking gray that loomed over me for years, put up posters boasting bright colors and flashy cartoons, and surrounded myself with people who loved this off-kilter world as much as I did.
I still find myself lying on my bed, listening to music and gazing upon the plastic stars dotting my ceiling, but so much has changed since that night. Now, my music is on speaker for all to hear, and stuffed animals crowd me from every angle. Now, instead of wondering what I’m doing with myself, I’m day dreaming about my newest favorite show. Now, I’m not scared of myself or others. I’m just me, and that’s exactly who I need to be.
