Cleaning my room

Recently I’ve been reading widely on stuff that heightens my perspective. It feels like taking a good, hard look at the bedroom I’ve built over the last two years – a meticulously arranged space of curated tokens meant to represent myself at a glance to chance visitors – and being momentarily satisfied, only to brush by a shelf and find my shoulder stained with dirt.

You realise that, though the view looks great from a distance, flat surfaces displaying numerous objects infallibly attract dust, and that might explain why you’ve been feeling claustrophobic.

So I stripped it back for re-evaluation – a re-curation of the pieces that occupy the hallowed halls of my personality.

I carefully peeled down some K-Pop posters and filed them away with the fragile crutch of hedonistic capitalism that they represent.

Unhooked my unreasonably large calendar from the wall, and myself from an unhealthy occupation with time – replaced it with a mirror which, for me, means self-care, because I doll myself up for myself.

Finally, I rearranged my bookshelf: pop culture paraphernalia to the bottom, beloved novels and art tomes to eye level, ready to catch my attention and inspire me.

Stepping back, I’m surprised and delighted to discover a significant amount of vacant space. And with the dust sprayed-and-wiped away, surfaces shiny and prime for reflecting into, a pretty clear image emerges of what I want to fill – no, fulfil – myself with moving forward.