I have to force myself to take a step back, force myself back into the present and this tiny studio that has become my home. I don't want to move on too fast and not appreciate this time learning and growing and reaching out and becoming what I hope to become. I know that I am itching to be done, restless in a room that has no space to sew or sit comfortably. But this time studying has been good.
I want to remember my balcony garden, hours perched on my kitchen bin as I potted and repotted and tended to my vegetables.
I want to remember the string of zines above my bed, a daily reminder to write and create, but mostly a colourful distraction from the stained walls.
I want to remember the table I got for £7 to make my kitchen look more like a kitchen, and the dried flowers that sit on it, preserved from a bouquet I was given when I left my first placement.
I want to remember the wonky red table that balances precariously by my wardrobe, filled with paper and glue and my long armed stapler.
I want to remember my slowly growing collection of ornamental hedgehogs and mushrooms, hidden between houseplants that I irregularly water but are clinging on.
I want to remember the photobooth strips that I make every visitor take stuck around my mirror, the square photos and boob print wallpaper that make up my headboard.
I want to remember two mattress piled on top of each other, barely space to put one on the floor for a guest, wedged into the fireplace.
I want to remember the high ceilings and Victorian decoration and the massive single pane window that makes the room bright but freezing.
I want to remember the view down my road to the sea.
The next step might be more exciting and grand than my current day-to-day student existence, but I don't want to wish it away. I will miss this room and the time I have spent here. It has been the foundation for all I have managed to achieve. I don't want to forget it.
