Looking back on my childhood the place I spent the least amount of time as possible was
my bedroom, specifically my bed. I was a very giddy child who always wanted to be
everywhere, but home. Biking, rollerblading, and playing with the neighborhood kids was
always the daily routine for me. But when the sun set and the clock hit 6 pm, I had to
return home to my bedroom where I never wanted to be, stuck wasting my time sleeping.
Now growing up, all I can think about is my bed. It’s relaxing, soft and extremely
comforting. Even though most of the time my bed is quite messy, it’s reflects more of a
comfortable messy that makes you want to jump into it, and drown within the scattered
pillows and blankets. It’s the only place I can see myself be when I don’t feel like facing
reality, as well interacting with the rest of the world. It represents who I am as a person and
where my place is in this society. I am messy. I am comforting. I am soft. I am relaxing. I
am taken for granted. And I am alone. I am my bed.
I see myself to be a close resemblance to my bed, isolated in an area where I am away
from almost everyone. A bed usually sits in a room, far away from nearly everything in the
household and implanted in a compact area. That is where I feel the connection between
my bed and I. Nowadays, right after class I would go straight home to my bedroom,
