When we think of the word foreign, some of us associate the word with being in a new place. Finally packing up your bags and make the move you promised yourself. Foreign is a word being tossed around a lot nowadays, and I feel that the word can wear many hats. Tonight, foreign to me means the space I am currently moving out of.
I got home tonight and immediately felt this growing detachment from my dorm. This dorm holds a lot of memories, but I can feel the time I spend here ticking down. This is, in part, thanks to the moving deadline that is slowly approaching. I am packing up my bags to move six blocks up. Not far, but far enough for me to relinquish any feeling I have for this space.
I have moved a lot in the last two years. I bounce between Muscatine, Chicago, and New York so much that I don’t ground myself anywhere until I know that I am going to be there for more than a moment. I have loved living in my own space, and I am grateful that someone was looking out for me from the very beginning. Every time the resident assistants would come to do room checks, the room was listed as “reserved.” Not my name, just reserved. This meant only one ghost was occupying this space, and nobody else dared to move in. I am not sure how you could fit two people in here, anyway.
I know it will be a while before I can build my sanctuary. I was joking with my father the other day about the fact that I don’t ever turn on lights / burn electricity. I like to keep my space dark, and he likes to tease me by calling me a vampire. The lair is cold, dark, and quiet. I wrap myself in a blanket burrito and cover my eyes to protect myself from the smallest hints of light. One time, my friend Gracie walked into my dorm room in Chicago, and asked
“Are you hibernating? Why are all the lights off?”
She wasn’t exaggerating, either. I had the blinds down, lights off, and the windows closed. I could hear everything and nothing at the same time. That’s how I like my spaces — like a chamber. Within that chamber is a pond. Sometimes I close my eyes, and imagine I am sitting at the pond in my room. The pond is only affected by my thoughts. I don’t touch the pond, but I do stare at it until I realize that nothing is in between me and my dreams. Then, I wake up and realize that spaces are what I make of them.
TJL