I find something magical in the concept of a bedroom. Maybe it's because I spend so much time in this room, compared to the others, or maybe it's because it's the one part of the house that I should have the most say in and yet don't.
For most part of my life, I didn't have a bedroom all to myself.
A tragedy I'd say.
The problem did not lie in me having to share this supposedly sacred space of mine but that I have no power over it at all.
Being brought up in an almost-traditional chinese household means that there's no such thing as interior design. Pragmatic is the way to go with white walls and sensible furnitures. Theme, you say? What theme? Things are bought according to their use and their estimated mileage.
"What's so nice about this shelf? Buy this one lar, this one better. It looks sturdier so can last longer. Why do you need that one anyway? Not practical."
Albeit this being applied to almost everything else, the inability of me having a say in what I considered my temple had me feeling trapped. Confined. Powerless.
I hated it.
Back in the old house, despite having limited space, I used to move the furnitures in my room around. I do it every few months or when fancy took me by a whim. Even if it's just moving my bookshelf from this end to the other end, I'm content with it.
There's this unexplainable need inside of me to always see a change. Have a change. Be the change.
Yet, I needed things to match too. I've lost count of the number of times that I tried persuading my mom on how matching pillowcase,bedsheet and bedding are vital to my wellbeing. And they are. But I don't think she ever took me seriously nor do I think she will.
Is this what generation gap is all about?
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