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.