by Shantha Nivothana Segar
My memory place is a penthouse in the middle of New York. It’s not big, but not small either. There’s a little hallway, which broadens into the living room/kitchen. On one wall of the hallway there’s a silhouette of me, and on the other, one of my cat. In the living room, the wall facing outwards is made of glass.
The wall on the right is one big bookshelf. Filled with books of all kinds. In the middle there’s a fireplace. There’s a cosy chair beside the fireplace, and in front of it there are two bean bags, one green, one black. Then there’s an aquarium glass table and a cream colored couch. Behind it, there’s a kitchen. The kitchen takes the third wall, the one on the left of the hallway. A half wall separates the living room and the kitchen. It’s not high, just so I can get my head over the top. There’s a refrigerator filled with food, and a freezer filled with ice cream. There’s also a cupboard filled with candy, and one filled with fruit. My cat’s also there. She’s just very lazy, and sits on the couch most of the time.
It’s a portal. A portal to any universe I know, or any I can imagine. A Star trek universe? Sure! A Harry Potter universe? Of course! The only limits would be those imposed by my imagination. I use it to get help from the characters in each universe. If I need help with homework, I can go to Hermione for help. Feeling insecure about myself? I’m sure The Doctor can lift my spirits. If I feel the need for advice or encouragement, there’s always someone there to provide it. The possibilities are endless.
A home doesn’t need to be a house, and a family doesn’t need to be related. And how true that is.
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