Because I have had to move so much over the past few years my walls have been bare. And those were the times I was lucky enough to have my own room. Typically I didn’t.
The last time I had something of my own hanging on the wall was when I was living with Sir. I hung the dream catcher my brother had made for me, not realizing that bedbugs would infest it and I would have to throw it away.
I was crushed because it was one of the last things I had as a reminder of my brother, and it had been handmade which made it extremely sentimental for me.
When I first moved into the apartment with Joshua I hung two of my favorite posters, as well as a few pieces of fairy artwork I had gotten from Mother Earth before she moved to Texas.
Sadly I began finding bedbugs in the new apartment, stowaways from when I lived with Sir.
Out of paranoia I took everything off of the walls so they would have less places to hide. I still find small ones every once in a while so I never hung anything back on the walls.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons the apartment feels as temporary as it does.
Not only will I be leaving at the end of March, but there is no reflection of me in the space. No self expression.
When I lived at home I had been allowed to decorate my room how I wanted.
The walls were painted a clam sea foam green and had a band of wallpaper boarder running around the center of the room. A matching soft bluish green with flowing scroll work which I would stare at while I laid on my bed, letting my eyes get lost in following the designs, allowing my mind the freedom to wonder and work through what was in my head.
My room was tiny. No joke. I had enough space for my futon, a small computer desk in the corner of the room, with a mini fridge next to it. No bookcase or anything. I had two Gothic Alchemy posters on my walls; Chemical Wedding and Morgan Theomachia. I would get lost in those pieces of art as well. Always finding new things.
My room was just a little hole in the wall, which I loved. It felt close and secure. Calming. It was a reflection of who I was.
When I moved to Florida my first apartment was huge in comparison. The bedroom alone was over twice the space I was used to. The walk in closet felt like it should have been the bedroom. The kitchen was amazing, with a little dinning area off to the side.
There was so much space that part of me wondered how I didn’t get lost trying to go from one room to another.
As I took more and more classes for my degree program I began to have several art projects that I was proud of. I hung those as a sort of collage in the walls of the dining area.
There were several figure drawings, as well as my first color theory assignments, a few watercolor pieces as well.
My dad and I would often put puzzles together when I was younger, gluing them once they were complete so we could keep them. I kept this hobby as I grew older, and when I moved Florida I framed a few of my favorite puzzles and hung them on the walls, along with the two Gothic Alchemy posters.
I loved being surrounded by my art and by things that had extremely positive memories associated with them, and it is something which I greatly miss.
The walls feel barren, the room mildly unlived in. Most of my stuff has been packed since the beginning of January. I pull my cloths out of a container in the morning because I am trying to sell the chest of drawers on Craig’s List.
Very little in my room will come with in when I move again so there is a level of detachment.
I am in transition once again, and my walls reflect that right now. This is temporary, this is fleeting. While I may live here, in this room, this space, I am not here. I will move on and the walls will be just as bare then as they are now, no evidence that I had been here at all.