I will write my project in the same place I have written every single assignment on: my bed. When people say the word home, it is always my bed that pops into my mind. It is the place where I have done most of my homework, even when I had a perfectly good table right next to me. Sometimes it has been the place where I have fallen asleep on top of my homework. Describing my bed can be hard, because the sheets and blankets are always changing. It is always comfortable though and always feels like home. Compared to my sister’s bed, which is brand new, mine was passed down to me like most of my clothes and everything else in my life. Compared to my sister’s bed, it is also not as fancy, but yet it is the one I sleep the best in. My sister has a white bed, which comes with matching cabinets and a nice blanket set with a purple net that surrounds it.
Mine is the one that usually has a blanket known as the “immigrant blanket,” which is a thick blanket usually with a weird pattern of a tiger or something random that no person with taste would buy. Currently, the pattern of my blanket is pink with flowers. In the winter, I used to have a brown blanket with a tiger on it. Maybe my mother was symbolizing spring coming when she changed it. The flower is zoomed in so much, that you could barely tell it is a flower until you stand back far enough. These are blankets that I have never seen in stores in America and yet they always end up in my bed indicating the changing of the seasons from the hot summers to the cold winters. One came with us from Albania, taking up most of the luggage space. Under the blanket I have sheets, which are usually white or some other light color. I wish I had darker sheets, because I constantly get hot sauce on them while having a binge in order to avoid actually doing my work. The pillows match the sheets, and usually the pillow sizes change every time laundry is done, making it so I never get used to one (My favorite pillow has still been missing for 2 months). My cabinets do not match my bed. My bed has a metal frame that is not physically attached to the bed so the bed usually swallows my my pillows inside the gap between the bed and the frame.
Even with all that, it is the place I miss a lot. It is the first place I go when I come home. My bed has a lot of responsibilities. It seems to be the community throwing place. When laundry is done, it is always thrown there, even when I’m in it (sometimes I don’t mind because the laundry is warm). My mother often comes and sleeps in it and I wake up to her next to me after her long shift that ended at 1am. My bed is so average, that I can barely remember how it looks like, but I always remember how it feels like. It is the thing I miss even when I am in vacation in a place that can be described as paradise. Although the beds of hotels are more comfortable, it is the feeling of “I’m finally home” that makes me miss it.
I feel more comfortable writing here, because I can put all my ideas out without being as stressed as I would be if I were in a place that I was not familiar with. It is the place where I do all of my last minute writing and the place that seems to inspire me 3 minutes before I’m about to close my eyes and fall asleep. Maybe the reason it’s so comfortable is because it is not new. It has been used by many before, even people I have never met. It has a purpose to everyone in my house. To some it is a laundry basket, to others a coat hanger and to my mom it is a hotel. I can feel that people have used this bed before, because there is no memory foam, but I still feel the softness that was probably never there when it was first bought, but came about as a result of multiple people sleeping and resting on it. Maybe it’s their thoughts that come to my head right before I am about to sleep. Maybe it’s them giving me last minute ideas for projects that are due in a few hours. It’s the place I wrote my essay in 8th grade in the dark barely seeing the letters and later had the teacher joke if I wrote it in the dark because of my horrible handwriting. I never seem to think about when I am in my bed. It is almost as if time passes by, but I never notice, until my mom yells “you’ve been in bed all day.” However, it is a space that provides comfort for my body and makes my brain start to work. I am never conscious that my bed is the only place I can really write. In school, I always feel as if I never have ideas or am being watched. In my bed though, I always seem to find peace, that allows writing to flow. Being more mindful of where I am writing, could help in what I write, because this bed has been used by many and their stories are in this bed. Also, if I choose to focus on the women in my family, I could write about how they had to make their homes a place that was multiple things at once and it seems like I do that for my bed.