with or without walls

Writing about one place will simply not do. There are two very different places that both jump out in my mind: Seattle, and my own room. Two very different essences, and two places where I can satisfy whatever appetite my soul longs for. Whenever I get the chance to travel there, Seattle knocks down whatever walls and barriers I had built up in my mind, and I am free to absorb every color and sound on the spectrum to my heart's content. But when the outside world and all its realities overwhelm me, I take comfort and solace in shutting my bedroom door, laying my head on the pillow, and listening to nothing but my own thoughts--or sometimes, just silence.

Plenty of people would say that their rooms are a place of comfort, and mine is no different to me. Two walls are a vibrant shade of sky blue, and the other two a deep shade of turquoise. Albeit the normal necessities, I have everything I need in there. My mom would call my room a mess -- I've apparently inherited the disorganized gene from my father --but I think it looks comfortable and well-lived in. There are stacks of bank statements, letters from colleges, books, hair ties, cheap jewelry, millions of receipts, and who knows what else, that accumulate on my night-stand and my desk before reaching my floor. Despite all this clutter, I can still find everything -- if everything was neatly put in its place, I'd immediately lose it.

After an argument with my mom or my brother, when I know I can't hold any more anger back, I can let it out within those walls without hurting anyone else. I seek refuge in my room when I feel tears welling up in my eyes, or when I have a roaring headache and the Advil does nothing for me. Sometimes it's even just when I'm reading (or writing) a book, I feel this overwhelming warmth wash over me that has nothing to do with the heat being turned up. When I'm looking for silence, and in turn inspiration, I just have to look out my window. The view isn't spectacular; only the oak tree in the middle of my mother's well-kept front lawn. But the view of those branches coupled with a rainy day or a colorful sunset is breathtaking. I could stare at that tree all day. My room is definitely a place of overwhelming comfort, and peace.

In stark contrast is the glorious metropolis of Seattle. Having lived a little more than fifteen years in one place, Seattle is also a respite from the daily grind of a relatively small area. My eyes widen every time we come over the pass. It's a bit of a culture shock, and yet it grows on me.

It's an adventure. I love watching the fish being tossed at Pike Place (who doesn't?), and just wandering around Queen Anne Hill and Fremont. It is, literally, a whole different world to me, and one I'd be happy to live in for quite some time. Two out of my top three picks for transfer universities are in Seattle, and I love the rain, so I don't think I could ever grow tired of it. The whole city has no limits, no boundaries -- it's where I go to be open, free. When I walk the sidewalks of this place, the very concrete seems to move, and my feet are granted relief. When I am here, I feel invincible: I feel like anything could happen, and I'd be carried away in the rush of it all. I'd be a part of all of this, and I wouldn't care in the least bit.

It's a little strange that the two places I love to be the most are probably the two of the most differing places on the face of the planet. We all need a little balance, though, and this contrast provides enough for me to keep my sanity.

-d