Apart from that, my clothes were strewn all over the floor; the radio blasted punk music at top volume, the singer’s shrieks drowning my mother’s voice, and the water-dripping down from the air conditioner, clawing its way out and finally embracing the floor where it lay smugly.
My room may be the most messed up room with the water spattered on the tiled floor and the porcelain doll grinning, as happy as a chipmunk, but it had its fair share of wonderful, musky scents bumping into your nose like dodgem cars racing at top speed, as you entered. Each scent had a personality of its own — from the inviting, fresh bed sheets grinning slyly, were Cheshire cats getting ready to pounce on their victims, and the faint, alluring fragrance of spicy apples lurking in the atmosphere. Each aroma tantalised me, and made the room feel more personalised; they almost gave the room a character of its own.
Everywhere I stepped, my junk littered the floor. My four-inch mini hour-glass contained the pinkest and brightest sand ever, each grain a curious speck of wonder tumbling contentedly on top of others. And every time I picked it up from the raggedy, faded rug, each sprinkle dropping to the curved, gleaming half of the glass, was a second gone, a moment lost in time; as each shower of pink grains fell, a memory was imprinted in my mind forever.
I had five of these hourglasses covering my carpet like murky, inerasable ink stains, and they were lovely to touch. The shape of their frames were carved delicately and painted so as to give it a shiny gleam, as pretty as a bright star in the sky blinking like an eye, and the contours of glass voluptuous, curving inwards gracefully. The music, which always blared out from my room, was punk music much to the annoyance of my parents, and it added a more defiant, rebellious nature to my room full of jumbled junk.
But I couldn’t and wouldn’t change my room for its untidiness and for all it was worth; it gave me a personality, and each of my possessions (even the scents) gave it a disordered feel, which I liked very much. Although I had outgrown some of the property I owned in the room, each and every piece of ‘junk’ was valuable to me. All this ‘junk’ made the room less aesthetically pleasing to others, but for me, all of it would always be priceless as gems my whole life.