I look around at the walls, reading the words written there. I can't help but smile a little, and suddenly it strikes me that I have to preserve this. Preserve this moment and these memories. A record of my personal growth. And though my roommates laugh as I take picture after picture of every detail of the wall, I know they'll thank me later. The truth is, we couldn't have done this without each other. And every word we wrote down chronicles what we went through. I look around at my best friends, and set my camera on the arm rest of our little green arm chair. We each position ourselves in front of the wall, and on the count of three, we tear it down. A record of our journey falls to the ground in a heap of colorful construction paper, and the blank wall underneath becomes a metaphor of things to come.
A year later, I drag myself downstairs yet again to tear down a wall. This wall is bigger, full of many more thoughts and quotes. But it means a lot less to me for some reason. I feel detached as I take in the sight in front of me. White and blue, a symbol of what we have gone through again, and yet, I wasn't a part of it. Spending the whole year wishing I was in a different place, living a different life, I forgot to pay attention to what I had in front of me. And now it was all coming down in a heap of construction paper, reminding me of a happier time, and the new blank walls giving me hope of what is to come.
This year there is no paper to take down. The walls have been blank all year. And yet, as I pack my clothes into my suitcase and prepare to move home, I can't help but feel a sense of sadness. Each shirt I fold has a memory attached to the fabric. So many times I smiled, or laughed, or cried. It's all here in this room, snuggled into my bed, hung up in my closet, written in my journal, marked in my scriptures, thrown in my garbage can, placed on my dresser... all the things I will remember from this year. And it's a melancholy feeling, a bittersweet thing to clean up and look at my blank walls, and know that I have even more walls to decorate coming my way.
p.s. last night it was very hard to sleep because I was sick, and I kept coming in and out of dreams about all the bloggers that I admire... I guess I'm more obsessed than I thought.
A year later, I drag myself downstairs yet again to tear down a wall. This wall is bigger, full of many more thoughts and quotes. But it means a lot less to me for some reason. I feel detached as I take in the sight in front of me. White and blue, a symbol of what we have gone through again, and yet, I wasn't a part of it. Spending the whole year wishing I was in a different place, living a different life, I forgot to pay attention to what I had in front of me. And now it was all coming down in a heap of construction paper, reminding me of a happier time, and the new blank walls giving me hope of what is to come.
This year there is no paper to take down. The walls have been blank all year. And yet, as I pack my clothes into my suitcase and prepare to move home, I can't help but feel a sense of sadness. Each shirt I fold has a memory attached to the fabric. So many times I smiled, or laughed, or cried. It's all here in this room, snuggled into my bed, hung up in my closet, written in my journal, marked in my scriptures, thrown in my garbage can, placed on my dresser... all the things I will remember from this year. And it's a melancholy feeling, a bittersweet thing to clean up and look at my blank walls, and know that I have even more walls to decorate coming my way.
p.s. last night it was very hard to sleep because I was sick, and I kept coming in and out of dreams about all the bloggers that I admire... I guess I'm more obsessed than I thought.
I think I'm going to cry.
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