After a long, taxing day of classes and draining social interaction, my dorm room is always an inviting oasis.
Voigt Hall is home to my quaint sanctuary. Located Uptown on North Green, the all-girls dorm is rarely boisterous or plagued with distractions, and is a quiet and relaxing spot.
Named in honor of Irma Voigt, Dean of Women at Ohio University from 1913 to 1949, Voigt Hall is a safe space for femmes of all races, ethnicities, and sexual orientations.
The moment I turn the key that opens the door to my tiny dorm, I am greeted with an enveloping warm hug and an overwhelming sense of serenity.
My roommate and I have done our best with what little room we have to create a space that is uplifting and imaginative. Together we’ve plastered our four walls with photographs of female forces of the past who inspire us to embrace our womanhood and artists who create music that is rule breaking and argumentative.
Above each of our beds hang twinkle lights that, when turned on, transform our room into a magically lit haven where anything conceivable within our imagination is possible and no conversation is off limits.
Strewn about our room are a number of minuscule succulents and cacti we’ve accumulated that liven up our sometimes dull and dreary atmosphere. I appreciate the presence of our greenery most on days when I am buried in schoolwork and unable to escape my confined space to explore the outdoors.
My first move after a tiring day of academia is to drop my ever-heavy book bag to the floor and crawl into bed. Covered in an obscene amount of pillows and much too comfortable and cozy for my own good, my bed has been the hub to which I have retreated to in various emotional and mental states.
Being an occasional sloth, my bed is a dangerously enticing area of my room that often wins in the battle between it and the chair in front of my desk that never sees much use. Although some might see me as lazy, my bed is where I complete most of my work. Being snug while finishing said homework is just an added bonus that I’m not willing to give up anytime soon.
Directly above my bed are Polaroids of summers past that remind me of times when I wasn’t laden with looming responsibilities and obligations. Accompanying said photographs are small doodles and mini art pieces my boyfriend drew for me on Post-it notes while I wasn’t looking.
Next to my bed resting in a pink cup are a bundle of newly sharpened No. 2 pencils my Papa sent with me to school last semester. Though my Papa doesn’t quite understand that I don’t often find use for such pencils in this digital age, they serve as a loving reminder that my family is supporting me from afar.
As I look around from my perch in bed at this teeny room I call home, I can’t help but be grateful for the silly late night conversations my friends and I have reverberated off these four walls. Saying goodbye to my tiny retreat at the end of this semester will surely be tough.