How I Found who I am during Cleaning My Room

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I am a mess. The table where I should do my homework is always covered by trash, old school papers, and notes I forgot I wrote. The floor engulfed every item and it was never seen again. When I did do laundry, new articles of clothing would suddenly appear. My dresser spewed out clothes and containers with hair bands, pins, coins, etc. I did not know where my things were exactly, but I knew they were safe somewhere in my room.
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Like old friends on Facebook, I thought that I would find the lost items someday.
One hot summer day in July, all my friends still on vacation, I felt that something was off. I could feel the boredom and the loneliness coming in like a freight train. I tried watching YouTube videos and every show that air on TV. Nothing was helping me solve my problem. I went into the living room and saw my brother watching TV, and my mom cleaning the kitchen; everyone doing their own thing.

I went up to my mom to tell her my problem, but she, like all other moms, told me to clean my room. The thought of cleaning that room made me nauseous. I walked away upset and a little overwhelmed.
When I got back to my room everything, per usual, was a disaster. I stood in the middle looked around and inhaled the filthy air I had become so immune to. As the clock was ticking, I became aware of how truly disgusting my room was.
I noticed a spider hanging from my mirror to the top of my window. I felt horrible; everything in my room was given to me by people that mean the world to me. In return, I just throw them on the floor as if they were nothing. Lost mementos came back into my memory after years of blocking them out: my favorite snow globe from New York, a picture of my family in Florida, and my collection of drawings. I then had an itch to find more items hiding amongst the mess. The piles of clothing and trash grew taller,
Swallowing me into their shadows. I had to get rid of them. For the first time in forever, I started to clean.
In a shoebox hiding under a pile of clothes, I found an old photo and a letter from my grandfather. I had not really thought of him since his funeral 4 years ago. The memories came rushing in, the fun I had running through freezing sprinklers with my cousins, the smell of sweet barbecue, the salty air at his beach house, and the feeling of his wool sweater rubbing against my cheek each time he pulled me into a hug. I thought of how my mom held me and sang me to sleep the night my grandfather had died, and how my tears were endless. I sat on my bed holding his picture, everything around me became a blur except for his picture. I could feel my tears coming, but I continued to sit and study every line in his face. The tears streamed down my face, and the weight, I didn’t know I was holding, was lifted.
The box also contained the picture of me and my family I Florida. What caught my attention was how I looked. I had short hair, mountains on my face, and extremely crooked teeth. I could hardly recognize myself. I had pushed her so far under the destruction of my room, and the light, bubbly girl I used to be was lost and I did not know how to find her. Eventually, I decided to completely change my room; make it to where belts, clothing, and books were in their correct and safe places. The last thing was framing my family photo and grandpa’s photo. I hung it high above my door to remember those precious memories. In the end, it was me who wasn’t okay; cleaning my room and finding those mementos, helped me find who I really was.

Terence Hampton

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