Not all adventures take place away from home. Stories open up the possibilities for adventures that take place in a single room, whether those stories are books, online stories, movies, or TV shows. When adventures follow these mediums, the room in which they happen begins to reflect those adventures.
My room has been the home of many adventures, and it reflects many of my preferences, radically the opposite of my room as a child. As a child, my room was more often than not decorated by things that had little value to me. A candle my brother owned that I thought was cool, but otherwise just collected dust. A picture frame that I’d picked up somewhere, made less valuable because I had little to no pictures to put in it. The porcelain dolls I had collected, more because one of my only friends at the time was obsessed with them than because I actually liked them. This gave rise to the erroneous opinion that I actually liked them which I was too shy (at the time) to correct. Books covered the top of my desk and were hidden inside my headboard.
Now, I have a bookshelf. Two bookshelves. Both are mostly full of books, but the top shelf of each is dedicated to movies and TV shows. The complete Harry Potter series, book and movie, the complete Lord of the Rings series, book and movie, the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, all of Jane Austen’s novels, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare—the list goes on. The bottom shelf of the case on the left is full of notebooks and journals. All of them only half used.
On top of the bookshelves are various items. A stuffed nylon bear with a discolored eye—the only toy I still have from my childhood, and the only one I remember liking. A stuffed blue owl, a gift from a friend. My talking Dalek, another gift. A stuffed blue dragon. A little plaque that says “I tried being normal once. Worst 2 minutes of my life”—also a gift. The top of my dresser used to proudly display my undergrad. and graduate degrees, but I just took them down. There are always several cards related to whichever holiday that was most recent and is associated with cards, and in this case my birthday. Around the frame of my mirror are slips of paper, drawings, and pictures. The slips of paper are inspirational notes to myself that I have grand intentions of reading on a regular basis but always happen to overlook. The drawings are not done by me, but were given to me by a friend: a phoenix and a mountainscape. The pictures are of friends and family members, or friends close enough to be family members.
On top of my other dresser is an odd assortment of things. A piggy bank in the shape of Darth Vader’s head. It contains roughly $90 in change. No pennies. Just nickles, dimes, quarters, a few dollar coins, and one half-dollar coin. I’m not sure what I’m saving for. Probably a grand trip to Britain or something. I have a little plastic Mjölnir and a large wooden ax. The ax was a gift based on my nickname. There’s a candle that smells like Starburst, an empty tea tin that used to have English breakfast tea that says “Keep calm and carry on.” There’s a book I won in a class competition called The Quotable Dickens. As you might imagine, it’s full of Dickens quotes.
Nothing ever stays on my nightstand very long, except for the things that live there: my lamp, my glasses, my ESV study Bible, and my prayer journal.
My walls are decorated with an assortment of signs and paintings that were all gifts. The sign above my bed reads “Cute single sock looking for adoring mate,” and the one across the room shows a very grumpy Garfield and says “Does it LOOK like I care?” On opposite walls are water color paintings of Doctors Ten and Eleven.
Despite the chaos that my room tends to be in (I have a chair only for the purpose of storing clothes on, and in the recent clothing purge I had piles of clothes I was getting rid of all around the room), my drawers are almost always neatly organized. My clothes never get put away simply because I hate folding, and things only go in the drawers unless they are properly folded (the day I decided to change the way I folded my shirts was a nightmare). Similarly, my closet is also always neat. Everything has a particular order and must go in in a particular direction. Each pair of shoes has its own place on my shoe rack.
And absolutely everything is aquamarine. My bedspread, my sheets, my little pillow, my chair, the blanket on my chair, my rug, and my curtains—all are either entirely aquamarine or contain it. During the daytime when the light’s off, the light from outside dyes the whole room aquamarine. Every morning I wake up in a pool of blue light, and it is one of my favorite things ever.