Standing in the doorway, I saw two windows spaced unevenly on the outer walls, for the room was in a corner, overlooking a suburban backyard. Placed in walls of pale green, the portals shed light upon the space, but also music. The faint songs of whistling winds and busy birds preluded a buzzing air conditioner. A broken floor lamp graced worn oak floors, and a matte desk lamp leant impishly over a desk. The desk was Swedish—black and sleek, either side of it containing sorted writing and drawing tools, paper caddies, and a lamp. The space in the middle was open, large enough for a laptop, binders, and elbow room for a project. The sides may house typical desk oddities, but at eye level, a neat pile of CDs were visible in front of a variety of inspirational posters and a small box containing hundreds of paint chips.. The music styles varied almost more than the colors they were placed against—from Swedish Screamo to a new age, The Fairy Ring, to the slightly more expected Fleetwood Mac and Frank Sinatra.

On the right of that desk, the wall boasted a collage built gradually, displaying aged photos and fresh prints, all visible from the head of the bed. There were hand-drawn mandalas, note cards with letters from friends, magazine clippings and packaging from headphones with interesting graphic designs, and pictures with friends and family. These seemed to be a disorganized catalogue of life, too scattered and emotionally diverse to have been pushed into a single image or artwork. Also present, quite curiously, was a flower crown hanging against the wall, a tourist’s map of Kennedy Space Center, and a certificate of achievement from LifeResults: Leadership. All these to the right hand of the owner; a sacred and honored space. Though they were disconnected, they all spoke to creativity and mindless passion.

To the left stood a tall bookshelf, with the same modern taste as the desk, where countless texts were placed in every inch of room, but never abused. Fat or thin, torn seams or treasured buy, religious text or picture book—the encapsulated stories were treasured. Any empty spaces between the tops of books or odd corners of the shelf were filled with little stuffed animals from Thailand, a perfume, or a pretty business card. Another bookshelf stood behind the desk, and yet another next to the door, although they held spare school supplies, sacred children’s books, various kits for arts, and reference books. There was no particular order as to where they were placed. The top of each bookshelf, however, housed treasured items, arranged in taste. Upon one shelf, for instance, were a tiara, windchime, and jewelry tree, with not jewelry, but ribbons woven between each branch. The next, A Sword in the Stone from Lord of the Rings and an umbrella hat adorned with the flag of Canada on each side. On the top of the final bookshelf, a suede Sunday hat that seemed to be decorated for an Alice in Wonderland party, decadent with thin blue tulle, gold roses, and pearl hat pins, rested alongside an elegant vintage shadow box with a young woman’s bedroom inside.

Not obvious at first were two paper heart garlands—white hearts on white string. The pair framed the headboard the window in front of the desk. Both baptised in pure love, the first hung as a dreamcatcher of sorts, and the second, a persistent and pure reminder of the work to be done. There were gold flecks on the string between hearts sometimes; flashes of hope…though only noticeable if the observer is already looking up. Unfortunately, people tend to lower their eyes.

On the oak floor, strewn here and there, was clothing from all states of folding. Perhaps a pile was never put away, and its presence gave leave for the “laundry basket” to exist on the entire floor. There were many lively colors and patterns, flowing skirts, black skinny jeans, leather jackets, sweaters, and free-flowing designs. Some pieces that were particularly quirky in nature were folded neatly on a stool next to the closet, placed in front of a quaint, wrought iron vanity and mirror. The spotless glass tabletop was decorated with some bottles and products, such as a tower of glitter in every color of the rainbow, and an open geode, but the majority of the space was clean and clear. In fact, there was a stand-up mirror centered on the glass, and in front of it, the foundation and brush from a rushed morning. Underneath, many cosmetic products were organized neatly; suspiciously so. The brushes smelled faintly of soap, and the glass, of Windex. It was free of dust or smudges, and products were grouped by both size and use, as though the owner of the room wished to present themselves as exceedingly polished.

Finally, the bed, for it does seem to be an afterthought. Constructed of black metal, it bunked a twin over full, dressed with matching comforters. The spread was of ink designs; flowers and swirls, in burgundy, lime green, peach, lilac, and blue, all over an ivory background. The top bed was made, but not due to someone making a habit of it. Instead, it was used as a display for a ukulele and guitar case; in addition to well-loved stuffed animals carefully lined up. Together, these ornaments told stories untold. If the instruments could sing; if the animals could tell of innocent glee, then only could someone know the tribulations that have come and past, and are here to stay. I swear though, that a faint hymn of joy might be playing in my ears….

The bottom bed was not made, nor was it overpopulated with furry friends. Instead, there were more than plenty soft blankets, and just one stuffed bear. Long ago, that bear was pink.

At last, looking back to the entryway from the middle of the room… the back of the door was a full-length mirror, and from it hung two pastel signs, “friends” and “family.” Through the many pictures, the colorful style, creative atmosphere, and loving vision, there still is chaos and pain.