volume one hundred and forty-one

(one of) my childhood room(s)

📍Written overlooking the cityscape of Naarm (otherwise known as Melbourne) and seeing the blue skies slowly appear as the sun rose behind the view. Every time I turned from the hotel desk to look behind me to the outside, I could see how much time had passed by how much lighter it had gotten.

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Of all the four walls, none of them were just walls.

Two were covered in windows — large and tall — to let the sunlight in from every corner of the exterior it could. It was the sunroom after all. The curtains were sheer, allowing the sunlight in even when closed, and therefore letting whatever was happening in the room, be visible to the outside. Mum insisted often that I close the main curtains too. She said I needed privacy and that it would help keep the room warm. To this day I trade warmth for sunlight when I have to.

Another wall had a small window that led into the hallway. This removed any sense of privacy but told a story of how the house used to be, and that the house didn’t always have this room. This room was an extension, an afterthought, an outsider. At this time in my life — at many times in my life — I had falsely been convinced I was the same.

The fourth wall was, of course, where the door lived. This is where I could step into the loungeroom and onto its lino floors and snuggle on its brown lounge or recliner armchair. But this wasn’t the only door out. The longest wall of windows also held a door to the outside. It took you right into the large unfenced front yard. It was at the opposite end of the house as the main entrance and was an easy escape undetected. Every time I ran away, however, I went out the front door. I made sure everyone knew what place they had driven me to. I gave up running away in my thirties.

Every inch of this room minus a strip of carpet down the center, was full of stuff. This was not built to be a bedroom. I am sure in other lives it held afternoon cups of tea and good books or accidental naps. Its long and narrow shape paired with my love of things made for a very cosy fit. Everything I own now fits into luggage that meets weight requirements for a flight.

The trundle bed was rarely used, as the bed that rolled out was unable to come out the entire way. It was the perfect size for a small visitor, who was as small as the owner in the main bed. The duvet had graduated from the mauve ballerina that was shared in the room of bunk beds once inhabited with my sister, and was now a hot pink and grape purple love heart explosion that said this is my room. The hot pink mosquito net that hung above the bed brought it all together. This is the origin story of my “I can sleep anywhere, as long as I am alone”.

The cupboard for clothes was an old antique, found at an op-shop like all the furniture in our home. (Either that or hand-me-downs.) It was old enough that I was embarrassed by it. I hated its curved doors. I hated its deep brown colour. I hated the gold locks on the doors with the large key. I hated the drawers in the centre that would get stuck easily and didn’t fit all my clothes. I hated it so much that I had all my friends write on it with a permanent marker when they visited. I hated it so much that I covered it with stickers. I would give anything for that gorgeous piece in my future home, now.

Posters from TV Hits and my sister’s Girlfriend magazines covered every spare piece of cupboard sides, and since I couldn’t hang things on the walls, they all hung on my windows too. As winter arrived, the blue tack hardened and they all began to fall. In the time this was my room my shrine to Jonathan Taylor Thomas became a shrine to Heath Ledger. Heath Ledger was never replaced with anyone else.

The sky blue desk hugged next to the cupboard. Its six shelves were stuffed full of toys, gadgets, things from cereal boxes and the occasional Happy Meal, and colourful stationery complete with a large supply of scented gel pens. Sitting proudly on the desk were a few favourite items. The most favourite of which was the sticky tape dispenser that was shaped like a whale. I ordered it from the school book club and loved it so much. The tape would cascade over the whale's tail to be torn off as needed. The whale’s mouth opened to a little drawer for tiny post-its and paper-clip storage. The whale’s spout was a pencil sharpener. I wish I still had it now.

I wrote some of my first stories in this room, and read over some of my earlier ones too. My imagination was entirely free. I did not know how to self-edit, edit as I wrote, or doubt myself. I only knew the joy of the process. Each day I am crawling my way back to that joy, just as I crawled my way back to the writing.

I wrote notes to myself after I had dreams that haunted me, and asked myself if this meant I was a lesbian. I hid these notes under my pillow. To this day I do not know if they were never found, or if like everything else in that home, privacy was unknown but these notes were something to be ignored.

I accidentally discovered the act of self-pleasure as I entered my so-called womanhood. I spent years ashamed, confused, and uncertain of anything (except that it was wrong and I was the only one doing it). I know now that kind of thinking was the thing that was wrong. I hold no shame. In my suitcase's weight limit, there is room for my vibrator.

In that room, and outside of it, I used my voice. It was loud. I was loud. I said what I wanted to say. I used the word ‘no’ and I meant it. I didn’t shy away from using it. If I felt no, I said no. I am slowly trying to learn again how to use my voice like that now.

I sang at the top of my lungs in that space. I recall rehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing for the town’s talent show. My headphones were plugged into my CD player and tucked tightly over my ears. The volume was all the way up. The lyrics I had hand-written by listening and pausing were in my hand because this was before I could Google them. Some of those lyrics were wrong. A lot of the notes were missed. I sang my heart out anyway. Lately, I’ve been putting on more music that I like to sing to, just for the fun of it.

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me what is one thing you recall from your childhood room that makes you happy to think about?

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here are three things i struggled with this week:

🐾 I woke up on my first night away from my most recent housesit and my ears were shocked to not hear the pitter-patter of feet around the foot of the bed and the yawn of a fur baby by my side. Both happened every day for five weeks at the moment of my first movement in the morning.

🔥 How easily the fire can be lit and how easily I can self-sabotage and extinguish it.

🖊️ Is it okay to take the pen from the hotel room? 

here are three blessings from this week:

🏙️ I am absolutely a city human. My much-needed hibernation ended with a much-needed feeding of my artist.

☁️ Getting distracted watching clouds.

😎 How much I enjoy my own company, no matter what we are doing.

here are three goals for the coming week:

🌊 Put my toes in the sand. I will be beachside again after being gone for so long. I don’t care if summer is gone. This guy needs their fix!

🎬 Visit the Summer Bay Surf Life Saving Club. It’s not a real place but it’s a real filming location.

🎂 Spend many hours at the LWS 24-Hour Birthday Sprint! See you there?

pics or it didn’t happen:

i visited the joy exhibition at the immigration museum of melbourne, and it was JOYFUL

I love you. Now I am off to think about my few exciting months ahead and how it is going to help me keep the fire lit. 

🧡, LD (lauren deborah | she/they)