All Within a Small Room

Can I even count anymore? I wonder…

How many exist out there? I questioned…

What would you trade instead? I was unsure…

“The stories we love best do live in us forever.” — J.K. Rowling

All the love exists within a single room — a place where you once lived, holding a moment you could never forget. A scent that stuck on you as you played on the floor; the shifting gaze of your mother evolving as the years went by; the distant noise of the kitchenware as you napped in your room. All of it — every fragment of memory and feeling — contained within that one space, that one room.

“We do not remember days, we remember moments.” — Cesare Pavese

No matter where life takes you, you will always remember that room — the room that held all the love in the world, and a touch of sadness that somehow belongs there too. Strange, isn’t it? The room you once could not wait to escape, yet years later, you realize you never truly left. Maybe physically you reached the next checkpoint, but your mind always carries its history — the story of your life. The story you thought you had buried forever, yet always knew you would return to one day. That small room, where everything took place, where everything comes back to life the moment you step inside — your mothers voice reminding you to put on a jacket, your father’s boots echoing as he climbs the stairs, your brothers’s wardrobe creaking as he gets dressed to go out with his friends. All of it, all in that one room.

“We are all different, which is great because we are all unique. Without diversity, life would be very boring.” — Catherine Pulsifer

How many houses are there? Is it even a number I could truly grasp with my limited human mind? Is it even a number that makes sense when you try to do the math? I doubt it... How many houses exist beneath you as you fly over them during a four-hour flight? And yet… and yet, every single one of them holds a different room where everything happened — a room with its own story. A lamp that was turned on every night so the kids could study; a table that stood strong as the center of happiness and laughter, but sometimes sadness too; a sofa that carried a family through years of everyday life, offering comfort and support along the way. Every room has a story, and each one is so unique you can hardly believe it. Isn’t it strangely unique? So unique that uniqueness almost loses its meaning. But somehow, it does not feel strange anymore. Every situation is so diverse, it would leave you stunned.

“We are all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?” - Matt Smith, Doctor Who

…and just when you thought it would never need to be addressed again, you put it aside — everything that challenged you back then; buried and left untouched. You never spoke of it again. But the time has come; to return; to face what you always avoided; to live through what once terrified you; to experience what once seemed impossible.

As you stepped into the room, you already knew — you had never truly left. The same smell lingered. The same objects stood where they always had. And your hands touched the things you were once afraid to feel. But now, something had changed. You had no choice but to embrace everything you once rejected.

Part of you still wanted to run, to shut the door again. But another part — loved it. So what can I say? Maybe you were wrong all along. Maybe it was not the things that were too hard, but you who was not ready. Maybe life forced you to see things differently. In this same room, where you once left a piece of your soul; in this room, where fear carved itself into your memory; in this room, which looks just the same — but you, you are no longer the same. And that changes everything. It happens like this to everyone, doesn’t it? Each in their own way, in their own room. Different fears, different memories. But what do I know? Just one opinion. One voice. Could be mine, could be someone else’s — someone who also walked into a room like this. This very room — once filled with all the happiness, and all the sadness. And now, as you rub your eyes, everything looks the same. But it is different!

Can I even count anymore? I surrendered…

How many exist out there? A plethora…

What would you trade instead? What remains…