Story Teller

I live in an appartment. 6 rooms all in all and one is mine. I have three white walls and a black "nuck", which holds my bed. My bed is great, too bad I don't spend more time in it.

In the nuck I have the Black Spider Man hangin on the wall, completely besides the point but Spidey is cool and deserves to be mentioned.

We haven't lived in this appartment for too long, about 4 years i think it is. I remember when we first moved in, my room was empty and sort of cold. Sure the fireplace was there back then too, has been for about 100 years I think, but the room was still cold.

I got to choose what colors i wanted for my walls when we moved in. This resulted in the white walls (color orchid) and a then beige/brown nuck. Figured I wasn't such a beige person and changed to black a few months ago.

Over the years my room has become more and more of an image of myself. Every little detail reflecting my life, telling a story of its own.

The shelf with all the prizes and diplomas, dated and tagged, reminding me of all those hours at sea. Getting wet in a little dinghy, waiting for wind. All those long car trips, all hotel rooms, all the friends I made.

The row of dictionaries: French, English, Swedish, German, Russian for beginners. The Princeton Review SAT books. Horrifying memories of all language teachers and French dictation.

The old iPod cases and ruined headphones. Hinting that my eardrums might not be in the best shape right now. Explaining why my computer's hard drive is almost entirely full with music.

The old Taekwondo belts hanging on a hook, explaining all the bruises on my body.

The walls of my closet, cluttered with Surf and Skate stickers from different parts of the world. Not so different from the sticker collecting I did at 10. Just in a different format.

The Handbags in the corner, together with various shoes. I am a girl, I love shoes and handbags, period.

The Skiboots crammed up together with my longboard, waiting for the right season. Just like me. Powder covered hills. The beach walk in San Diego.

The books, everywhere, in drawers, on shelves, on my night table, on the floor... Everything from Harry Potter to Jan Guillou to Jonathan Saffran Foer. A diverse mixture, sans regulations, patterns or organistaion. All in a jumble, different thoughts, different oppinions and very different views.

The photos on the wall, The World From Above by Yann Arthus-Bertrand. One of ricefields in Bali, one of cotton fabrics in India. Distant places that causes the mind to wander of. Waking a spirit of Adventure inside you.

Pictures of smiling friends. Good friends, good times. And as we all know: it's all about the good times...

Shattered pieces, pieces from all over the world, joined together in a 16 m.s. space. Not related in a certain way, not alike.

But all telling something about me. Something about my life so far, hinting possible paths in the future. Breaking down and supportiong everything you might have expected.

Because like the walls in my room, I am everything and nothing you would expect. I am opposites combined. I am black and white. Without the two ever mixing into grey, just existing in the same space...