Room 416

416, you've been good to me. You gave me a home. I feel full when I say that. It's the first time I've experienced walking into a space and feeling my whole body declare that I am home. In this tiny little rectangle that I can call mine.

---

It's funny how space works. But it's serious, how space matters.

Space from people can help you heal. It can give you the distance you need to breathe long enough to think about who you are, where you've been, why you hurt, and how you can fix it.

Space can help you set boundaries. It can draw the outline of who you are, and how much of yourself you give to people, and how willingly.

I really love my space. I like walking through the door, knowing with full confidence that everything is exactly where I left it. I love being responsible for cleaning my space, for keeping it healthy, for decorating it, for giving it personality, for organizing it, for making it available for people that I care about to come and share their problems, joy, and truth.

I love tucking myself into bed each night before I doze off, wishing the Hope Building goodnight, and asking myself what that word meant for me that day. Curious, how it always means something different. How the same window can frame the same word, but mean something completely different.

Today's probably going to be my last night in this space. And to be honest, I don't really feel like I'll miss it. And to be honest, I don't really feel like I'll miss it. Which is strange, right? Because if you love something so much, when it's gone, you miss it. But I don't feel sad at all. I don't feel the yearning or the longing of being left incomplete because something is missing. Because this space taught me that I can be complete, I can be self-contained, and hold everything that I need for my sustenance within myself. Within this skin and this body and this mind. Within this memory.

I won't miss this space. It gave me what it needed to give me in the moment that I needed it the most. It showed me unforgiving comfort. And consistency. It was always, without fail, there for me. I could depend on my space. On my room. On my blanket to be made just the way I like it. On the plants to be lined up, staring back at me, giving me joy, smiling in the sun every morning. Because all they needed was a little bit of sun, a little water, and the space to grow. That was all that joy required of them. Of me.

Showing my personality through the objects I mindfully scattered around, thinking about it, I won't miss this space. Because I don't really see moments in it, the way I used to miss things. I see the people and the things we did here, but the space itself, was just there. It was just the background. But it mattered so much. But it matters so little right now. Right now I'm grateful. That's all that I feel for this space. I'm so immensely, immensely grateful. Thankful for the compassion for how this space held me and let me heal in its arms. And how it gently, but assertively, reminded me every night, in big capital light, to HOPE. That there is hope. That there will be hope. That hope will be there. Whether I want it to or not. Whether I believe in it or not. I just have to look outside my window. I just have to reframe my vision. I just have to let the space hold me. And trust that it will always be there, consistently.

I'm not sure how this semester would have gone if I didn't have this space, this room. This exact room. With this silly little building that I look at, quite often actually. I don't know how fate pulled this off. And I don't know why it doesn't feel cliche anymore. But I'm smiling. And I'm just breathing. In this

still

loud

full

comfortable

air.

I've memorized the cracks on the wall

and how the shadows fall

recklessly

against the edges of the room.

I admire the crafstmanship of putting so many little pieces of me

into such tiny spaces.

Filling the room with

who I am

but somehow,

that just makes the room feel bigger.

It somehow makes the room feel as though

there just is more space for me.

So many people have told me that my room is super cozy this semester. They're always surprised to find such a little room having so much character. Maybe that's why I won't miss room 416. Maybe what made it special was not the four walls that surround me, but what I chose to put in it. How I chose to paint with my personality. And build with my character. And trust that the air would catch me in all that I was, in all of those moments.

And of course the Hope Building is a silly chance of fate, but a part of me believes that's something I can take with me as well.

H

O

P

E

in bright

CAPITAL

light.

That will always be with me now. And I will try to remind myself every night.

Thank you for having me, room 416.

Sigh.

You've been a good friend.

I won't say I'll miss you.

But you were a pleasure to have in my life.

And I'm all the better for it.