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I lived through many years of college, and with many sets of roommates in my old apartment. It was very lavish and spacious, yet still homey.

I wrote the first chapters of my novel at a desk in my bedroom there. I lost my virginity on the floor of that same bedroom. And said my first real goodbye to a best friend in its living room.

Settings where past memories took place, both good and bad, are important to me as crutches to help prevent me forgetting them. I stared at the blank, white walls so long. And the boredom caused me so much agony at the time. But now I'm thankful that I was able to memorize their appearance, so that I will never forget the important memories I can associate with them.

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