365 :: march 16, 2010

21 Mar

march 16, 2010. i hate the days when you realize that you’re grown up and you have to say goodbye to childhood (or teenage) relics. tonight, i stopped by my parents’ house after work, only to find that they were painting the hallways and back bedrooms. this included taking off all the old doors. even my old bedroom door that they knew i heart so very very much.

my parents always gave me free range to do whatever i liked in my bedroom in terms of design. this translated to approximately four years of a dark purple cave cleverly (or at least i thought) partitioned by bookcases into several nooks. i contact papered my closet doors before taking them off and hanging fabric and i had a van gogh shower curtain as a window covering before constructing rice paper sliding screens. i loved my room.

and my door was never left blank; i always had something interesting on the back of it. once, my friend painted a fairy with sparkles and no face (now the very thought of it makes me a bit queasy, if i’m being quite honest) before it was covered in smashing pumpkins lyrics (my personal favorite was muzzle: and the world is drawn into your hands; and the world is etched upon your heart; and the world so hard to understand, is the world you can’t live without. dramatic much? yes, i don’t feel a need to comment on that)

and when i came home from college for graduate school, i primed away the pruple and painted in the colors of my favorite art nouveau print, which i still have hanging in my apartment. and to match, i painted a trompe l’oeil effect on the door to make it appear, if not old, anything but the late 1970s/early 1980s ugly that it was. i still remember the color of the paint: bougainvillea.

yes, i was pretty horriffied to walk out into the garage and see my beloved door off its hinges and stacked in a pile for the trash. believe me, there was a pretty intense q&a with my mother on the subject before she told me to get over it. a little part of me sighed in the weird sadness that comes with growing up. it’s strange how a door can make that happen.

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