Fátima Reyes, Grade 11
UWC Costa Rica
My bedroom has always been my sanctuary. I have been lucky enough to have a private room for most of my life. My room was my safe space, the only place where I was free to be who I wanted to be and disconnect from the rest of the world. As an introvert, me-time is my life saver, and my room at home was the only place where I could get some. My favorite part about it was, precisely, that it was mine and no one else’s. Naturally, moving to a place that warned me in advance about the nonexistent privacy was somewhat terrifying. Little did I know that there I would be able to create a new sanctuary, and with it a new family.
I first entered Cahuita 6 on a warm August afternoon. It was a dull room, to say the least. All three beds were placed parallelly to each other, had plain red covers, and one single pillow. The walls were the most uninspiring white I have ever seen, the wardrobes made of a very old brown wood. Don’t even get me started on the curtains. If it weren’t for the abundance of bugs and geckos welcoming me, I would not have been able to guess life happily strived in that place. I quickly identified my bed, the middle one, by a little pin with my name on it. There awaited me several little welcome notes from my Latinx second years and residence assistants, sweet gestures that definitely made me feel more comfortable. I was, after all, at my new home, and couldn’t wait for the day I’d feel like it too.
I left my suitcases and went downstairs in search of the WiFi password. There, I encountered one of many unknown faces. She looked at me quite shocked, and, before I had time to react, called me by my name. I suppose she deciphered the confusion in my face, as she quickly introduced herself as Hibiki, my co-year and roommate from Japan. I responded to the meeting the only way I ever knew: by attempting to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. She, in turn, extended her hand in a handshake attempt, and as we both realized the awkwardness of the situation, I silently thought to myself that my first experience as an inhabitant of Cahuita 6 could not have possibly gone worse.
The days following that first encounter were equally awkward, if not even more. We were two strangers from vastly different cultures, trying to share a living space. Yet, that all changed when our second-year roommate finally arrived. The day I met her, I had gone into the room, unsuspecting, to find a mess of suitcases and clothes hiding two laughing and chatting girls I had never seen before. One of them cheerfully introduced herself as my roommate, as she apologized for the chaos. I must have been evidently perplexed since they both laughed at me. The only sentence I could formulate went about bringing Hibiki to the room, to what my new roommate responded she had already met her. I felt so out of place I left almost immediately without being able to process what had just happened. I knew then that my room was up for a radical change.
Indeed, Cahuita 6 was never the same. Within a couple of days of Priya’s arrival, our room became alive. She encouraged us to change the bed arrangement, the curtains, and decorate the walls with pictures and posters. We got new covers for the beds and hanged our respective flags. We even went shopping together for some fairy lights, a kettle, and some hooks to hang more decorations. Priya painted our names and countries on the room’s door and sat us down to agree on the room’s rules. As we grew more comfortable with each other and our new environment, Cahuita 6 began feeling more and more like the home, it was always meant to be.
I fondly remember all the times Priya explained our naive selves the unofficial rules of campus, told us stories about her second years and answered our questions about boys. I will forever treasure every little chat I had with Hibiki, who eventually became my best friend, and will always hold on to the excitement and home-like feeling I had every time I came into the room after a long day to find her joyfully welcoming me. The free periods spent watching Glee on our beds, the many afternoons spent trying to teach each other our languages, the nights dancing to music, and the mornings struggling to get out of bed. The first time Hibiki wore her yukata or the night, we got ready for prom. The anxious talks about our futures, or the sentimental talks about our pasts. The time Priya pulled an all-nighter to finish her A-worthy EE or the time I surprised Hibiki beautifully singing to Aladdin’s ‘A whole new world’ in Spanish.
These memories, now bittersweet, turned Cahuita 6 into my new safe place, my new sanctuary. My two amazing roommates made of what first appeared to me as a dull room, the most wonderful four walls in the entire campus. I had found a new place in which I felt free to be whoever I wanted to be, but I also always felt welcomed, embraced, and loved, because I was never alone.
One of my last memories of my Cahuita 6 was the day we were told the campus was closing. I was extremely upset, heartbroken. I went into the room and sat there, in the dark, crying my frustration off as it slowly sank in that that was, perhaps, one of my last moments in there. A couple of days later, Cahuita 6 was lifeless again. The ugly curtains were back up, our wardrobes were empty, the white of the walls was once again visible. I spent my last night in the room, the first one all alone, in Hibiki’s bed. The next morning, I took out my suitcases, took one last picture of the desolated room, and finally closed the door of a place I can now call home.
I first entered Cahuita 6 on a warm August afternoon. It was a dull room, to say the least. All three beds were placed parallelly to each other, had plain red covers, and one single pillow. The walls were the most uninspiring white I have ever seen, the wardrobes made of a very old brown wood. Don’t even get me started on the curtains. If it weren’t for the abundance of bugs and geckos welcoming me, I would not have been able to guess life happily strived in that place. I quickly identified my bed, the middle one, by a little pin with my name on it. There awaited me several little welcome notes from my Latinx second years and residence assistants, sweet gestures that definitely made me feel more comfortable. I was, after all, at my new home, and couldn’t wait for the day I’d feel like it too.
I left my suitcases and went downstairs in search of the WiFi password. There, I encountered one of many unknown faces. She looked at me quite shocked, and, before I had time to react, called me by my name. I suppose she deciphered the confusion in my face, as she quickly introduced herself as Hibiki, my co-year and roommate from Japan. I responded to the meeting the only way I ever knew: by attempting to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. She, in turn, extended her hand in a handshake attempt, and as we both realized the awkwardness of the situation, I silently thought to myself that my first experience as an inhabitant of Cahuita 6 could not have possibly gone worse.
The days following that first encounter were equally awkward, if not even more. We were two strangers from vastly different cultures, trying to share a living space. Yet, that all changed when our second-year roommate finally arrived. The day I met her, I had gone into the room, unsuspecting, to find a mess of suitcases and clothes hiding two laughing and chatting girls I had never seen before. One of them cheerfully introduced herself as my roommate, as she apologized for the chaos. I must have been evidently perplexed since they both laughed at me. The only sentence I could formulate went about bringing Hibiki to the room, to what my new roommate responded she had already met her. I felt so out of place I left almost immediately without being able to process what had just happened. I knew then that my room was up for a radical change.
Indeed, Cahuita 6 was never the same. Within a couple of days of Priya’s arrival, our room became alive. She encouraged us to change the bed arrangement, the curtains, and decorate the walls with pictures and posters. We got new covers for the beds and hanged our respective flags. We even went shopping together for some fairy lights, a kettle, and some hooks to hang more decorations. Priya painted our names and countries on the room’s door and sat us down to agree on the room’s rules. As we grew more comfortable with each other and our new environment, Cahuita 6 began feeling more and more like the home, it was always meant to be.
I fondly remember all the times Priya explained our naive selves the unofficial rules of campus, told us stories about her second years and answered our questions about boys. I will forever treasure every little chat I had with Hibiki, who eventually became my best friend, and will always hold on to the excitement and home-like feeling I had every time I came into the room after a long day to find her joyfully welcoming me. The free periods spent watching Glee on our beds, the many afternoons spent trying to teach each other our languages, the nights dancing to music, and the mornings struggling to get out of bed. The first time Hibiki wore her yukata or the night, we got ready for prom. The anxious talks about our futures, or the sentimental talks about our pasts. The time Priya pulled an all-nighter to finish her A-worthy EE or the time I surprised Hibiki beautifully singing to Aladdin’s ‘A whole new world’ in Spanish.
These memories, now bittersweet, turned Cahuita 6 into my new safe place, my new sanctuary. My two amazing roommates made of what first appeared to me as a dull room, the most wonderful four walls in the entire campus. I had found a new place in which I felt free to be whoever I wanted to be, but I also always felt welcomed, embraced, and loved, because I was never alone.
One of my last memories of my Cahuita 6 was the day we were told the campus was closing. I was extremely upset, heartbroken. I went into the room and sat there, in the dark, crying my frustration off as it slowly sank in that that was, perhaps, one of my last moments in there. A couple of days later, Cahuita 6 was lifeless again. The ugly curtains were back up, our wardrobes were empty, the white of the walls was once again visible. I spent my last night in the room, the first one all alone, in Hibiki’s bed. The next morning, I took out my suitcases, took one last picture of the desolated room, and finally closed the door of a place I can now call home.
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