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" Happy am I; from care I'm free! Why aren't they all contented like me? " - Opera of La Bayadere


A frozen lake of faces gazing back at you gives a sense of life to what would otherwise be an empty space. Posters of all different sizes and shapes fill every patch of white are kept company by dangling charms and a swaying purple dream catcher.
A Place Full of Magic

A frozen lake of faces gazing back at you gives a sense of life to what would otherwise be an empty space. Posters of all different sizes and shapes fill every patch of white and are kept company by dangling charms and a swaying purple dream catcher. The feel of the soft feathers that hang from it make me feel calm as I truly believe in its ability to ward away the evils of the night.

The soft scent of vanilla incense mixed with the settle fragrance of candles wafts gently through the air, filling the noses of each visitor with a feeling of comfort. On quiet days you can hear the birds chirping from outside and the slow breath of a sleeping dog that is almost always curled up on the floor. His golden-brown fur rises and collapses with each thoughtful breath, a sign of his contentment on this warm wooden floor.

Light streams in through the thin cotton curtains that hang from the window just above my bed. On the other side of the room the light is silent, blocked from view by a deep blue Celtic shawl that is adorned with twisting patterns. Its soft touch reminds me of adventures outdoors with friends and family.

Upon the bed lay 8 pillows of varying size, shape, and color; but all are so comfy it is akin to lying upon a sea of clouds. Stuffed animals rest neatly in a group near the wall. They are a field of color and huggable fur. At night I clutch a large deep green frog tight to my chest. He's been my fuzzy companion for years and the way his once amazingly soft exterior is now matted down clearly shows it.

Along the windowsill lay empty containers of all kinds. Soda bottles from late nights of homework, Japanese drink bottles from a brilliant weekend spent enjoying the fruits of another culture, and carbonated water that tasted like liquid happiness. Though I have been told time and time again to recycle or throw them away I never will. It may seem silly but I love to see them lined up along my window and think about all the memories that something as simple as a sparkling drink bottle can make me remember. I remember my tired feet as I strode through the crowded rooms of the annual Colorado anime convention longing for something to quench my thirst when my newly made friend Kat pointed out a fridge at one of the booths and asked, “Have you ever had a Ramune?” I hadn’t even heard of these drinks before but I was eager to try one and so our group of four left the booth content with our tangy beverages and strange costumes to wander and laugh together until the day came to a close.

A keyboard sits along the edge of the bed, a Christmas present from many years past. It is almost as long as a full size piano and it rests upon a flimsy looking black stand. The beautiful music that flow from its keys reminds me of many painstaking hours spent learning each new piece in hopes of pleasing both myself and every other member of the household.

The giant of the room is a tall wooden bookshelf. Handmade and painted a light peach color to match the walls. Filling its shelves are books of all kinds. Precious comic books filled with their glorious artwork, gripping novels that can be read again and again and never lose their thrill, and picture books from childhood. A few movies and video games rest neatly in their places near the books, accompanied by an assortment of flavorful candles and smooth glass figurines. Shiny trophies resting on checkered marble bases adorn the top shelf reminding me of the years I spent in Tai Kwan Do training for tournaments. Those days may be over but I will never forget all the happy memories that came with them.

When I stand in the center of the room I think about how much it has changed since I first set foot in it 8 years ago. Once upon a time a double bunked red bed was perched neatly in the corner against the wall. I remember hanging up scarves from the top bunk which effectively enclosed the bottom from the rest of the room. This was my gypsy caravan and I would ride through the forest singing and dancing with my imaginary troupe members beside me. I would hit my tambourine and wrap myself in my mom’s many flowing scarves pretending to be the prettiest gypsy in the world with a little place all my own. I can still see my young self giggling while I put up the scarves and entered my little dream world. The days of fantasy have come to a close and the stories I create in my head no longer include me. You can however, find a scattered page of a story lying on the floor of this colorful room. Perhaps it is of the gypsy girl I once dreamed to be.