The Rose Room

The Rose Room

I’m the girl that grew up in a pink bedroom, hot pink to be exact. I remember my mom painting the room and the smile that drew across our faces as the eggshell primer hit the wall. I felt like I was a princess roaming around in a castle lined with pink walls that protected me from everything bad outside. 

My mom loved the way the room made me feel. She bought countless decorations such as polka dots, stuffed animals, doll houses, a treasure chest, and things that even said my name on them. 

I LOVED my room. Every time I would go home I would run up the stairs to belly-flop on my bed. 

The room allowed me to be confident, because with such a bold color how could you not? 

I did musical.ly’s in there and attempted to learn how to do the splits, I created thousands of concoctions that would somehow turn me into a mermaid. The room felt comfortable and creative. 

Although around year 12 of having my pink walls, the paint started slowly chipping away. 

My parents said it was probably because of water damage from our roof leaking or from their horrible paint job, but the walls felt different.

It felt like the room was slowly deteriorating and my life was along with it. 

My aunt got diagnosed with cancer days after the walls were chipped, I lost my best friends as the polka dot stickers started to lose their stickiness, and I was confused about my sexuality as my teddy bears were slowly losing their stuffing. 

I never hated my room so much, because how did the blossoms on my wall slowly begin to wither? 

Year 13 is when I started looking for other room colors, hoping that would fix my problems. I choose a teal-blue color that would allow clarity, but still, maintain the bold aspect. 

By year 14 the pink walls were gone. New decorations such as leaves, paintings, and tapestries soon pervaded the walls. 

The room made me feel happy because the sense of freshness was relieving. And although I did miss the nostalgic pink color that could bring me back to ballet and Disney in an instant. I knew it had run its course. 

Even still with little decorations such as my stuffed animals and items with my name on them remaining, everything else was gone. It was as if my room had hit skeletonization and somehow was reborn. 

Though the room is still disintegrating. Leaves are falling off the wall and the posters are hanging on by a thread. I’m constantly applying tape to keep everything in place, but an adhesive can only do so much. That feeling of loneliness consumes me each night with the constant “what ifs” infiltrating my mind. 

In a way, my room is still a reflection of my life: the aesthetics are crumbling just like certain parts of myself. While adding new decorations may hide some marks on the wall, I’ve realized that decorations come and go the same way that people and experiences do.  Recently, I’ve been surrounding myself with people that make me feel good and have acquired opportunities that allow me to grow mentally and physically. 

So yeah, my room is quickly becoming contaminated again, but maybe it’s for the better.