It's strange living in a room that is not your own. I'm in New York City and I'm unfamiliar with everyone and everything in it, but what I find the most disconcerting is that I'm in a room that is not my own. I mean I've lived in dorms- stripped of any personalization. I've stayed at my grandmother's house- with family photos and newspaper clippings. I've slept over at friend's houses- with similar memorabilia to my own. It just dawned on me that I've never really lived in a room filled with someone else's knickknacks and memories- someone I've never met- and will never meet. I'm living in a stranger's room and I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm invading someone else's space.
It just makes me wonder how someone would feel living in my room. Would they have a sense of who I am? Would they feel like they were tiptoeing around my space? Can you live in someone else's space and truly be yourself? Or are you stuck momentarily in their life?
