So here I am, back in my so-called "pigsty" room. I am not proud of it from the perspective of neatness, but then, it is MY bedroom - it provides me with more than adequate comfort. It is the place I relax in after a weary day. There is nothing special about my bedroom actually. I often wonder are there stains of leftover sperms on the bed sheet after a night of DIY.
I have a shelf together with a working desk. The shelf holds most of my prized possessions - my Lego sets, a non-working radio-controlled racer bike complete with action figure, my two and only two trophies and my CDs. The working desk works mostly as a store for my books and lecture notes, other than for a non-working mini-hifi which I am too lazy to throw. The Lego sets, all three of them "bionicles" (cool-looking, mean fighting miniature robots they are) were each bought for each sitting of exam I took. Each time, in the mid of preparing for my exams, I would take time off to piece them together. I found them stress relieving in that context. After which, I would place them there as memorabilia. The racer bike was a gift from my eldest sister when I was a kid. It is delicate in its detail, complete with a license plate which had its side chipped off when I overran its supreme engine against a wall. It regularly reminded me of how much my eldest sister loves me given that the family was usually too poor to afford such a gem of a toy in those days. The trophies - well, they are easily my most tangible objects of pride. One was a first runner-up prize in an inter-class soccer competition during my secondary school days. The silver paint has peeled off to reveal a ball-kicking figurine in red. I won the other trophy also as a first runner-up during my college days from a carrom tournament. Both never fail to bring back warm memories of days passed. For that very reason alone, they are valueless beyond the rust and dust. As for the CDs, they represent a large part of my life and passion. Music, to me, are little pockets of memories and emotions of different stages of my life, somehow trapped and waiting to be reopened again and again.
Afterthought: Come to think of it, my bedroom is a special place to me, despite of all its flaws.