"It's weird," one of my dormies said, "that you refer to Chittick as home now." And I do. When we're eating in Commons, I ask if my friends are ready to go home. I refer to the common room as "the living room," to the strange paved space in front of our dorm as "the terrace." And I love my dorm, the people in it, the living room and terrace and balconies.
But mostly I love my room. I love my wall of pictures and my armchair (everyone loves the armchair) and my tea things. I adore my plants and the soft grey shag carpet. I love the duvet cover from Paris.
A lot of people ask me why I fix up my room, and tell me how it doesn't even look like a dorm room anymore. I know it doesn't; I don't want it to. Mainly, it feels a bit more real when my room isn't transient anymore. I work better and think better and live better when I love a space, and, my god, I love my room.
I will post photos at some point, promise!