The only time I got to sleep on my own bed in my own bedroom in my own house was during holidays.
A month the longest, a week the shortest.
Living in a hostel was something really new to me, and something I really had to get used to, and eventually, I settled.
Carrying your toiletries to the common bath, cursing when you forgot something, glaring at the person who brushes her teeth too long when you're already late to class, dropping your underwear into the coverless drain hole while hoping no one would notice a panty floating across their cubicle and that it won't block the sewerage system, and cringing when you farted too loud while pooping last night's dinner especially when you know someone is waiting in line.
Not that it happened to me. Maybe.
So going back home every holiday was a bliss to me. I didn't have to carry my toiletries to the bathroom and I could just walk around with my towel on. No one judges you when you fart outloud at home.
I missed my room no matter what a mess it looked like.
Even though it became a storeroom when I'm not around. Granted my mom removed the stuff and made it looked like how it was the last time I left. Including the occasional furniture stuffed in my room to make more space in the living room.
But those times are over.
We've moved out from our cramped housing area.
I get to wake up in my room 365 days a year, so I figured, my new room HAS to be swell.
No more junks under my bed, and no more hoarding.
People, I present to you...my new room!
Colour scheme inspired by...
You're welcome, boys.
Back to my room. Sorry, no more bikini photos.
most expensive favourite part of the room
Custom made desk where I pick my whiteheads
Custom made wardrobe where I
hid a couple of bodies keep the rest of my junks
I won't be getting married and moving out so soon with a bedroom like this.
Unless I have reached my breaking point being awaken by crowing roosters and hens on labour every three o'clock in the morning.