I’m in the front-row seat of room 108, watching the red curtains on all the walls pull back and seeing every memory I ever made in room 108 start to play. If anyone ever told you that walls don’t talk, they lie. The walls speak every time I’m in room 108. Instead of words, they use memories, and one gets shown to me every time I walk into the room.
A memory might consist of the first class I took in this room. Every seat was filled, and I recognized zero faces. My confusion was apparent and endless. Some of the confusion was because of the class. It was one of the first college courses I took that was actually difficult. It also didn’t help that I was regretting my choice of transferring. I was a sophomore then; a few months passed, and I still didn’t know anyone. I continued to regret transferring for many days.
Another memory gets played. I’m in a different class, but I recognize more faces this time. I’m more comfortable in my own skin. My confidence is shaky, but it’s not non-existent. I talk to strangers, ask them about their weekends, and get to know them. I have become more friendly. People became recognizable to me, and I was recognizable to them. I no longer felt like a ghost who was roaming the halls. Thoughts of transferring only lived in the back of my mind.
A different memory of me, in another class, in the same room. Every face is recognizable. I talk in every class, encourage others to speak, and learn to overcome many fears. It is such a difference from a few years ago where I never dared to speak in class because I was deeply afraid of miscommunication. It is a miracle the difference a few years can make. Any thoughts of transferring completely evaporated.
As I walk into room 108 during my last semester of college, I am constantly getting reminders of every class I took here – the good, the bad, and the painful. I joke that I despise this room with my friends. There is not an ounce of sunlight that reaches this room. Its grey walls make the room dreary, and the bright white lights make it feel like a hospital. But when all is said and done, I will miss it. The undeniable truth is that I would not be who I am today without the classes I took in room 108.
I am not the same person I was before room 108. To be honest, I fear who I am without it. This room has become a comfortable place for me, no matter what feelings it elicited from me. A room never gave me as much power or confidence to be who I am as this room did. Will I still have that when I leave? Will the memories still get played? I am going to graduate this semester, which will force me to leave this room behind. My throat closes up at the unbearable thought of life after graduation. The safety of room 108 will no longer be available, and I have to face the horrors of the outside world. I have no idea what lies ahead, and I am terrified. But, while I am afraid, I am also prepared. Room 108 has taught me new perspectives, resilience, freedom to be who I am, and how to think for myself. I will have to leave this room, but I won’t have to leave everything. I will take everything I learned with me and every memory I have made in this room.
Featured Image by Allison Schmidt
