College dormitories consistently look bland, lacking the homeness of colored, picture frame filled walls, sun lit, curtained windows, packed rooms full of friends and family, and loving pets who always run to greet their owner at the door. Instead of entering a room full of light, I enter my dreaded, dark dorm room, fearing the generous amount of mess left behind from the day before; dirty clothes, trash, and leftover food that remains in my only green container for more than a day. Upon opening the door by turning the shiny, silver doorknob, I meet my match with this prison cell, white in color and cramped in size. The walls still seem bare; no amount of expensive football, basketball, or baseball jerseys could change that. Each one seems to hang slightly to the right, trying to escape off the skinny hangers, away from the dimmed lighting. The one broad flag pinned to the life stripped surface always pokes out slightly, avoiding the bumpy walls that anyone would notice if they lived here. Moreover, the plain furniture always catches my gaze, but not in the right way. It’s box like structure and lack of cushions reminds me of the oversized, wooden crates that transport storage items. Although the overall gloomy appearance of my room detracts my willingness to learn to make it home, the view from the gray rimmed windows provides a somewhat positive aspect. Every night at sunset, pink, red, yellow, and other warm colors fight their way into my dorm, pushing their radiance into the lives of the college students who constantly feel overwhelmed, especially me included. In a way, the boring walls almost absorb the sunset, and somehow, the dorm looks like a tiny, cozy cottage with my bright blue bed in the corner and my teal blankets seeping out from the side of the plump comforter. Only on those crystal-clear nights does my room remind me of my place at home, small but filled with multiple objects that illustrate it has been lived in; imprinted by my ownership.
Among the many sights within my dormitory comes the essence of a college student; tired, always hungry, and hard at work. After the blaring sound of my annoying alarm in the morning, I roll out of my four-foot-tall bed, landing on the cold, smooth floor. I can still smell the leftover fast food ordered from last night when I worked on the enormous amount of homework still piled on my splinter giving desk. The scent of crumpled up paper from the drawer of the desk managed to fill up the room. Empty boxes, soda cans, and used utensils lay at the top of the black trash, putting a mold like smell into my nose. Cool, moist air flows through the screened in window giving the room a morning wake up call, again bringing life to the insipid walls. The claustrophobic closet creaks while opening, almost grumbling for the disturbance at this early hour. Fumbling through the unexplained pile of clothes –washed or not- I grasp the soft, cotton fabric and throw it at my disappointing chair. I feel as though the room watches me get dressed, yelling at me to never leave, to stay in my pleasant, welcoming mattress. Cars pass by outside, rushing to get a spot in the cement parking garage before the traffic begins. Exhausted, I simply shut the heavy window and make my way to the door that seems to get smaller and smaller the closer I get. Closing my fist on the slippery doorknob, the smell of the morning and sound of slumber turns my head around. I look back at the mundane room I hate so much and think, maybe it is not so bad after all.