My room is organized chaos. However, others may refer to it as “Messy.” It is where water bottles go to die and where random items with the slightest hint of sentimental value are preserved in the back of my closet. My couch is the landfill for half-clean-half-worn clothes. It is seldom clear of clutter due to my indecisiveness and laziness. I always seem to try on every piece of clothing, leaving the undesired outfits on the couch, while I wear my typical “Kris” outfit: denim jeans, a colored spaghetti strap tank top, and a cardigan. Of course, by then, I’m running late and have no intention of putting my clothes away any time soon. My walls display memorable celebrations – graduations, Christmases, and birthdays – with loved ones. My bed is where all the magic happens. It’s where I write poetry, cram for exams and prepare for presentations, discover new songs to add to my playlists, and daydream about what my life would be like if I had enough courage to experience everything I’ve wanted to do so thus far. My room has been lived in by 12 other family members, but it is my space. My room is where I am me.