From about ages 8 to 11, Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys looked down at me from my wall, my own personal guardian angel, the ultimate status symbol of “cool.” This was the first instance of my personality taking control of my room, and soon next to Nick Carter came Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, 98 Degrees, N’Sync (even though they were Backstreet Boys rival) LFO, and any other picture that I could yank out of a magazine and masking tape to my wall (except NEVER the Spice Girls because I HATED the Spice Girls. Mainly because my older sister told me they were lame). Over time, the four walls in my room became scarcely visible, and I liked it that way. Chaotic masses of twenty of the same famous gaurdian angels keeping watch over me. My personality was defined by the images of others, these famous “celebs” that dominated my room decor. I was not yet Sierra, only just a fledgling that liked to have something all her own. Until exactly age twelve when I transistioned from elementary school into big, exciting, junior high with slightly more sophisticated but only just– lavender walls with white sponge painted stars. My dream room at the time, created by my father but soley mine. And even though the new room was exactly what I wanted, I still vividly remember crying as I pried my collection of heinous posters from the walls as I recalled all the sweat, tape, and personality that went into that decor and the phase of my life that that represented.
I loved my lavender room however. It meant big and exciting new changes for me. It meant hanging out with boys at recess, and not having to raise your hand before you went out to lunch. It meant seven different teachers and lockers and new best friends that all looked equally as awkward as you did, but, like you, had no idea. My purple-starred bedroom was short lived, like middle school, but it still remains purple and starred, and I shall be very sad to see that phase of my life eventually painted over.
Then came my current room. My sister’s old room, that I only now appreciate how sad she might have been when I took over it. My beautiful, classy, personality filled room that has come to characterize me in so many ways. My sanctuary and safe haven. My favorite place in the world. And now my beautiful, gold-walled and dark purple bedspreaded room is in shambles, looking less classy and more like a wrecking ball has wreaked its havoc. I am getting ready for a new phase of my life. The college phase. The bronze bedspread and blue sheets phase. I’ve been boxing things up, and tearing things down, and looking at what remains and what I’m about to leave behind. I’ve been examining my Paris Posters, and the pictures of not celebrity heros, but the heros that were my family and friends. I’ve been boxing up my stuffed animals. I’ve been sorting through my clothes and sifting through my memories. And suddenly I feel like the eleven year old girl again, peeling Nick Carter off the wall.