Various Sources

A culmination of images and titles that have appeared within the past 199 stories.

140,012 words ago, I was a shy 14-year-old in a foreign classroom.

Only half of my peers were in school with me, and those that were there all sat six feet away from me.

This classroom, to someone who has just entered high school, was the holy grail of classrooms. At first glance, as she first walked in, she entered the side of the room that looked like a typical English classroom. There were gray tables with black desk chairs arranged in an organized array facing the front board. The typically-white bricks were painted a pale blue, and some had vibrant drawings from past seniors who had left their mark in this room. 

The room had its fair share of references to literature, especially to The Great Gatsby. But what else would I expect? This is primarily an English class, after all. 

It was the other half of the room that brought me home.

Vintage furniture made a large circle surrounding a decorative, circular rug. Velvety and plaid chairs that have been noticeably loved have their designated spots around the room. In the corner, below the editor’s wall, resides the brown couch.

Many of my words have been about this couch. They told the story of how the shy 14-year-old girl I had been was able to come out of her guarded shell and spend the entire hour talking and laughing with writers she had once dreamed of being friends with.

They told the story of how the couch became my designated spot starting her junior year as I took on more responsibilities with her most favorite sidekick. They told the story of the laughs and tears and naps I would take throughout the years. They would tell the stories of triumphs and frustrations and heartbreak and celebrations. 

The room did not only provide me with my favorite seat in the school. It guided me to people that are far kinder than I could have ever found on my own. I met people who danced with me on car rides home, who went on plenty of walks through plenty of parks, who took beach trips with me, and indulged in many, many coffee dates. 

The people I met because of that room showed me all that I could truly accomplish. They pushed me to allow my words to have more meaning, more purpose. They were the nudges I needed to fully tell my stories.

The room has given me my passion. At 14, I was lost. I had no clue where my future would take me, and even wrote about the fear that encompassed all that was unknown. But then, I spent every day of my time in high school in this room. I poured my soul into the words that contained my heart and realized I never wanted to stop. The room has shown me that my passion is for storytelling. For bringing to life a frozen moment in time and dissecting it until I can see every little detail. For turning nothing into something with words that make my eyes glossy with tears. For allowing myself to write my own happy ending.

The room has gifted me with more than I could ever imagine over the years. What I am most thankful for, however, is how the room—room 139, for those who are still curious—has brought me to 200 stories.

200 stories, and now 140,578 words. Room 139 has seen me grow up. It saw me at 14 eagerly writing my first story about the infamous mirror—a story I now cringe at because of how bad it really is—and it sees me now, at 17, excitedly writing about the future beyond here.

Room 139 has seen every moment in between. It had seen me when I soaked up my favorite moments of spring and turned 16, when I embarked upon Eastown to inform the world about my favorite shops, and during the many times that I had to bid farewell to the seniors before myself. It has seen me give my strongest opinion on music and movies and tell the stories of my peers. It has seen me when the world was in black and white, and it has seen me when vibrant colors would coruscate from one word to the next.

Room 139 has seen me through my first 200 stories, but I am nowhere near finished.