keys

*Note: I have been using various writing prompts to inspire some creativity. This one was simply “Describe your surroundings.” I chose my room in Hong Kong, however, I recently moved in with my girlfriend and enjoy more square footage, better living and a pretty badass companion to share it with.

I keep my air conditioner on so the silence doesn’t have total control. The candles are the only thing moving in the room, their light dancing in the reflection of the shiny table top. It’s cold so I wear a sweater, only to remove it later because I’m too hot.

It’s small, my room, but not in the way that would make someone say, “Oh, this is charming!”

My kitchen is my bedroom, which is my office, which is my bathroom, which is my shower. It all bleeds together, blurring any boundaries and ultimately causing territorial disputes between regions. A errant towel may find itself on my kitchen floor or a wayward mug might make it’s way to the bedroom all with little more than two steps and a forgetful demeanor. It’s a box. A box with thin walls. I hear my neighbors coughing, talking, laughing and experiencing a wide array of emotions as the nights pass. It’s like hearing a sitcom on the TV in the other room. You know what is happening but you can’t see it. I can smell the food sometimes. Spices and smells seep their way into the space underneath my door and linger like a blanket in the air and it always seems to happen on the  nights that I am starving.

I do enjoy my room. In a city full of lights, I find some relief behind the thick burlap curtains that hang in front of the windows. Light still bleeds though but my eyelids keep that out as I sleep, like some nocturnal bouncer at an up-and-coming club.

I have a television but I think it’s in my room as an antique and purely decorative. It’s 14-inches and emblazoned with the branding “Konka”. Behind it, poorly hidden cables bend and twist their way around  the support arm like slick black snakes and insert themselves into a DVD player and a cable box, both as ancient as the television.

My bed is my luxury item. It has room for me to spread out when the day has spread me too thin or room to curl up and hide when the day beats me up. It’s comfortable but you wouldn’t be amazed. The pillows are flattened with age and time, weary heads compressed what vigor the filling once had, now they sit sad and askew.

My sheets get changed every Thursday. Helpers come in and tidy up, our paths rarely cross. Every Thursday I leave my place one way and come back to a tidier version. I like Thursdays.

A wooden desk holds various accessories and trinkets gathered throughout the day. Lose change, receipts of food long forgotten, laundry slips for clothes I haven’t yet folded, and keys all reside on the dark wood surface. With them, a laptop, lamp and books about places I may never see.

My closet holds a merry-go-round of outfits that I find myself in throughout the week. Most of them gym-clothes. They are lazily hung on hangers that don’t match. The lamp on my desk acts as a spotlight, casting shadows of my hats on the soft white wall and it’s hairline cracks. Socks and t-shirts hang out of the drawers as if desperate for attention. There isn’t much order here, just a simple confusion. I spend about 10 hours a day here, 8 of which are spent sleeping and dreaming of other places.

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