2025/Madelynn-

Whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I feel a dull version of an identity crisis and never know what to say. Perhaps they want the long answer, complete with a world tour filled with “I lived there for three years then my family went to another place.” Maybe they’d like the short answer, usually about where I was born. My place of birth is Texas, which I can remember nothing about. My home isn’t in Texas or any other location that can be pointed at on a map- it’s my bedroom. No matter what house, apartment, or hotel I’ve lived in, my bedroom has always been the one place that feels like what is described as “home.”

My bedroom is my refuge, where I find both safety and comfort. It’s a space that allows me to exist in a world that feels uniquely my own. I relish the solitude, not in a melancholic or desolate manner, but rather as a much-needed break from the outside world. I treasure the moments I spend alone; they are filled with peace rather than loneliness. I have discovered the perfect equilibrium, where solitude revives me, and I can truly be myself.

In my room, I feel liberated from the weight of expectations. There’s a comforting freedom in knowing that I don’t need to don a mask of politeness, engage in small talk, or worry about my appearance. Instead, I can listen to my favorite, often criticized, music, and light countless candles without someone complaining about the fragrant smell. I can dive headfirst into whatever obsession has captured my attention that week and enjoy my passions without a hint of judgment or interruption.

I’ve resided in houses, apartments, and even a hotel. I’ve had bedrooms in countries where communication with the locals was challenging. Regardless of location, I always ensure that my bedroom feels like a personal sanctuary. At this stage in my life, it is my true home, the one place that remains exclusively mine, no matter which part of the world I wake up in.