Collins 202

The not-so-white walls of Collins 202 evoke a sense of maturity for room and the tenants alike. The purity and innocence of the early years have been erased through the marks, cuts, and blemishes left over by stupid mistakes. Luminous white paint on the cubical-like chambers became tarnished as the experiences piled on. Although the aesthetic pleasure of the room has probably faded with the years, the homeliness still remains strong.
Three lightly stained pine desks lie in row, exposing memories and personalities of the owners to the world. From a rosary gingerly hanging over a cross on one desk, juxtaposed to the stein reading “Max” on another, the room’s culture clearly varies from area to area, depending on the owner. Upon further examination of desk nestled in the corner (with the rosary), a myriad of textbooks ranging from comparative religion to mass communication can be found. And remnants of times long passed: Photos. Chubby faced, red-haired baby pictures and an abstraction of the owner perhaps reflect the past, but connect with the room‘s current state. The clothing found on one of the pictures can be found splayed across the floor in a true messy boy-ish fashion: a green polo with a tiger graphed on the right breast, and a pair of chocolate corduroy pants.
Opposite of the desks, the bunkbeds display the true messy nature of owners. Sheets and covers splayed across the bed and pillows tossed in every direction in an ocean of browns, whites, and blacks. And in this pile, I lay sprawled across the fluffy mess, blasting Ben Folds. Allowing the dissonant piano chords to ring through the room as the pounding of the computer keyboard strums off-beat to this paper.
The messy corner that I strive in while studying just seems to be a jumbled mess of loud music, deodorant, Christian symbols, and opened bags of stale food. The unkempt array of pure boy-hood could never be a haven for most. But to me it’s the most comfortable home I’ve ever been in.