That’s my home
See that little white/yellow dot on the first mountain? That's my home. Sarah Village, Dharamsala, India I had two rooms in the teacher's building. This was the first room, otherwise known as the "kitchen." This is my stove that almost killed me. Before I left, this was used for storing boxes and pots and pans and the food my mother sent me. Door into the bedroom. This is when I first moved in. The chair later broke, and I put up the Tibetan alphabet on the wall and filled the photoframe on the wall. They were faded by the time I left. The balcony was the best part of my room. I was not excited to move from the guesthouse into the teacher's building, because it meant switching to squat toilets and cold showers, but the balcony made up for it. The built-in shelves. They were full of books when I left. The mattress is made of jute grass. I miss my bed the most. I tried to transition myself by eventually stacking the two mattresses I had and covering it with a quilt that I slept on top of, but it didn't work. More of the room. Monkey slippers! Door to the balcony. Notice the chair. View from the balcony. Clearly, it isn't much, but pictures can't express what it meant to me. A room is more than just the money you shove in it, whether it be in the form of new paint and furniture or all of your personal items. I like rooms that are actually lived in, that are not kept in pristine form all the time, where friends feel comfortable to lay down on your bed or take sweets from your desk. I used to collect so much junk, and I've learned that a room should be more than just a place for your junk; it should be a place for your life, family, and friends. And that small, cold-as-hell in the winter and hot-as... hell... in the summer concrete room is my favorite room of all time. If I could return tomorrow, I'd do it. http://www.flickr.com/photos/skyless_blue/sets/72157603892667913/ Past rooms (up to 2007). http://www.flickr.com/photos/skyless_blue/sets/72157603827419264/ The previous room (2007 - 2008). It was a bit of a culture shock to go from that bedroom to this one. Good lord, my mother doesn't know how to throw anything out.