Since I was born, I never had my own room. I grew up sharing a room with my sister. Even if we have separate beds, we talk and do things even after our mom turns off the lights at night. The walls were filled with doodles and illustrations of our growing up years. We even had freedom walls in our teenage years to fill up with our favorite quotes, our feelings for the day, frustrations, heartbreaks, happy times, and memorable photos. When our dad bought us a radio, we would always listen to our favorite radio station to lull us to sleep. We shared stuff, clothes, and conversations. Even if there were times in the past that I envy friends who got their own rooms, I was generally happy to share a room with my sister. It was not all sunny days, but memories are worth remembering.
After 29 years, I know now how it feels to have a room on my own. Since I came here in this country, I have shared a room with somebody -- somebody whom I have shared conversations with in the middle of the night too, whom I have exchanged pats on the back when our day's gone bad, whom I have shared a tissue box with while watching my favorite drama series on TV, among many others.
Having a room all by myself is such an overwhelming feeling. I regard it as a very good way to enlightenment. Slowly, I am beginning to seize the moment I share with myself. This was the time I realized how much I missed myself and how much I owe to my spiritual growth. My time, my thoughts, my actions are my own. And no matter how paradoxical it is, being alone by myself paves the way to connect and re-connect to others.
Others will have haircuts. While others will go places. In my case, I re-arranged and cleaned my room to signal change, new beginning, and a little step to moving on. The days have been tedious, challenging, and heart-breaking. But ultimately, I have a heart which never gets tired of breaking.
I've been on a long hiatus. It took me tons of guts to get back on track. Please bear with the nomad who is having a hard time to be blissful.