The Humility of Abode-Making

In the past year alone, I have come to know many a home. I have packed and unpacked more suitcases and boxes than I ever had to in my nineteen years prior and have set up shop in place after place with the full knowledge that I’d have to do it all again in a couple of months. From my bedroom in a four story building in Copenhagen to my dorm room this past semester at Loyola and every single Air BnB scattered across the states and around Europe that sheltered me in between, I have nested in every space with the intention of making it my own, no matter how limited our time together was. Despite its impermanence, I have done the same with my bedroom for the summer: I have decorated it with what is in my heart and have given it a part of myself, for it is my respite from the crazy beautiful world from which I take so much and from me, takes so much, too. It is where I ground myself, where I return to the very center of my being at the end of every long day with the help of yoga, mantras, poetry, sunsets, and prayer. But it is also where I unravel– where I let the ugly parts come out of hiding and take up the space that they need to through loud (or for the most part, muffled) wails and naps that last for hours. This room is as much my home as the one before it and the one that will come right after it so yes, I will belabor myself with making it as much of mine as a space can be.

Welcome to my humble abode.