ROOM 301, the beginning
I was 16 when I left the cool air and pine trees of my home city to go to school in a hot and humid town 300 km away.
I can still remember the dark shadows at the end of the lobby of the dormitory that would become my home in the next two years. I remember the bright sunshine that came through the open doors, making the white walls look almost orange.
I remember the song of the cicadas coming in from outside, loud and clear in the emptiness of the building.
I remember the heat and moisture in the air, and how I couldn’t believe that people could live in a place where you would sweat without an air conditioner or a fan. 😆
I remember the round face of the dormitory manager, looking bright and friendly as she stepped out of her office to greet my parents and me.
“This room still has one bed available,” she said, pointing to a corner room on the third floor. “You might like it here because there’s another student who will also study Development Communication, like you.”
It was the last bed in a room of six bunks.
I was the last one to join.
I don’t know if I also thought the same thing then, but it felt like destiny, and my decision to stay in that room became one of the most important decisions I’ve made my entire life. ๋࣭ ⭑⚝