My room, my space

Orientation camps finally come to an end. Lost my voice twice in the space of 3 weeks. 4 trips to my hall to bring in everything I need. It is still not complete.

I'm excited to get things started. To live independently. To set out goals and achieve them. To win. To become a more likeable person. But people hate winners.

Winning at the level that people do not detest you.

So here I am now, synchronising the last four fingers of my left hand, tapping the table to get 4 consecutive beats in a second, shaking my right leg and bare-bodied typing, staring at the monitor trying to figure out what life would be.

The music right now is ABBA's Dancing Queen, followed by Berlin's Take My Breath Away.. From a time i know not when, the former hit me real hard. No doubt it's a disco song, a mambo song some would like to call it. The settings in the 70s. The dancing queens of the past, what are they now? Haggard mothers? Rich tai-tais? Are they worrying about their futures, reminiscing of their illustrious pasts? The glory days of youth and exuberance. The time of blinding neon lights, groovy dance moves, big hair bands, bell-bottom pants. The reality of living room solitude, surfing senseless TV programs, making do with reticent family members, kids of another generation, myths of everlasting matrimonial love.

This is the best times of our lives. We should make the most of it. We should have the time of our lives.


Taken from interior of room


Outside my room


Posters galore; messy

My room is just but another room. The space in the room is the soul. The soul is the room.