THE ROOM I MEANT TO LEAVE

THE ROOM I MEANT TO LEAVE

When I first came back to my family home, I thought I would do everything I could to leave again. But as time passed, for a reason I still can’t tell whether it’s habit or comfort, I realized I wasn’t doing anything to get away from here.

And yet, I used to be someone who loved freedom, loved going out, wanted to leave the house whenever I wanted at whatever hour I wanted, and avoided communicating with family. When exactly did I turn into someone so domesticated – someone who goes straight home after work, doesn’t want to go out, and gets happy when there’s already food waiting at home?

When I first came back, I treated my room like a guest room, thinking, “I’ll leave again anyway, I’ll find a job in another city.” Now I even have a bookshelf in it :)

Honestly, what I feared the most happened. I used to think that if I got too used to this room, if I settled into it too much, fate would keep me here and never let me go. I was afraid I would accidentally start belonging here, and that life would play tricks on me once it realized I had grown comfortable enough not to want to leave anymore. For a long time, I didn’t even put a desk in my room because of that. And now I’m looking for a full-length mirror for it.

You know that Oğuz Atay quote about staring at empty walls and not even feeling like hanging a picture? I got so used to this place that I even hung posters on the wall. That’s how much I made it my own.

And the more I claimed the room as mine, the more it started resembling me. Quiet, fragile, and most importantly, something that falls apart very easily.

But just because I embraced the room doesn’t mean the room embraced me back.

A room that somehow fits a wardrobe, a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf into such a tiny space still can’t seem to fit me inside it.

Like the Sezen Aksu song: “Go ahead, stay in those yellow rooms if you can…”

That’s both the good and the bad side of the room. For example, the moment I come home from work, I lock myself inside it. The second I step in, I’m alone with myself again. And that means sacrificing even more sleep just to silence my thoughts.

But don’t get me wrong – I’m not happy just because I got used to the room. Yes, I’m happy to have my bookshelf, but of course I also want a home where my own rules exist. I want an actual home instead of being trapped in a single room. But like I said, I still don’t know whether it’s habit or comfort keeping me here.

People always say, “Step out of your comfort zone,” but if comfort really is the reason, I don’t think it’s that easy. Especially if you’ve never really had a comfortable life before. Still, I gave up the possibility of an exciting, lively life for one where there’s always food ready at home and someone else takes care of the cleaning.

And if the reason is habit, then maybe I just won’t fix the broken night lamp in my room. At least then I’ll have one thing in this room that irritates me enough to finally leave and build a life of my own…