Oh…another busy day gone. Home at last. I got used to the dirty pink. It doesn’t seem so horrible now that I have planted my joyful red ribbons in the gigantic wholes in the wall. And the peeling paint is somewhat making me smile. It’s as if the walls are going to sleep, taking off their make-up. The curtains have a dirty yellow paleness through which some rays of the moon shoot revealing the dust accumulated on the chocolate linoleum of the floor, which I have washed only yesterday (I now nostalgically remember) after spilling some milk (what can I say? I’m greedy, but there was no point in crying over the spilt milk so I took it as an opportunity to improve the air quality in my room). I look around. Everybody’s asleep. My Nescafe calendar is a bright spot on the wall above my bed. I chuckle to see Audrey Hepburn’s stare: Anamaria confessed to me she had trouble sleeping because those eyes kept haunting her. Poor Miss Doolittle! What a monster! Hahaha. Not many women on my wall. Ami says it’s only natural to have predominantly male figures on your posters. Yep…I miss my Adams family one. Room 38 was easy to point out with them at the entrance. Now even the Metallica one is gone and I’ve only James Hetfield embracing his guitar similarly to Brian Adams with the exception that the latter is actually stroking the strings. Then there’s Patrick Swayze’s leonine smile next to the Karate Kid boy scrubbing the floor (he looks so feminine, hehe), then the Verve, then the vocal of Lemonheads (don’t even know if I ever heard a song, but I like the poster very much), then a portrait of a white horse with a bright white star on its forehead that reminds me of our collection of Mischa magazine in French and German (this one is from a German issue, probably the centre-fold) and my silly childhood. Then Wu-Tang-Clan, Ugly Kid Joe, Kiss, Janet Jackson holding a lovely white puppy in her arms, Santana and agent Pierce Brosnan for whom the world is never enough are interspersed with printed outlets of some bibliographies, with post-its reminding me I cannot afford to be lazy and some pictures with colourful, mouth-watering food to crave after. The latest ‘monuments’ on my wall are a postcard with a sweet kitty, my photocopy of Ireland’s map and a detailed map of Cluj reminding me of where I am and where I’d like to go. It’s so hot and silent here. I feel like an egg in an incubator. Hush…I guess I’ll just put my clothes on my chair. Don’t want to wake anybody and the hinges of my wardrobe squeak awfully (just like the rest of them). Anyway, it’s a mess. I’d better find some time to tidy up. Say, wish there was such a thing for sale. My stereo and my headphones are at the head of the bed just where I left them and I know there’s my Simon & Garfunkel album inside. I’d listen to it, but it’s too late. Well, my flowery maroon and yellow blanket and my brown teddy bear make me feel like home. As I unfold the blanket and sneak under it, I pull François and hold him (well, it, but I’d rather consider this toy as an object of affection) tight in my arms. He keeps me warm at night. It’s almost as if I wasn’t here alone, all on my own. I start yawning. My eyes hurt from lack of sleep. Wait, I forgot something. My diary. Oh, nevermind. It’s inside the wardrobe. I’ll write down the summary of today tomorrow morning, if I have the time. I hope I make it on time to school for a change. I wonder what my love is doing right now. Is he thinking about me at all?