From My Bed (In Memoriam) by Anonymous

I have always had a morbid attachment to the objects I own. I know such a rampant expression of capitalism will be condemned at UCU, but that’s just how my life has worked, for as long as I can remember. My family makes fun of me because my go-to sentence starter at age five used to be: “Back in my youth...” One of the first manifestations of this disease called nostalgia had me fighting with my mother, at the ripe age of twelve, over throwing away my notebooks from elementary school. You never know if you need to reminisce about your first A in maths.Over the years, I have amassed a collection of letters, tickets, trinkets and other objectively useless objects which I jealously preserve in a drawer in my room – purely for the sake of withholding my memories from the corroding action of time trying to steal them from me. Being a nostalgic child is not for the weak: you start mourning life before it has truly even begun, hoarding random items that make you a packrat rather than the custodian you aspire to be.

Paradoxically, or rather thankfully, I think that I’ve been slowly recovering as I aged, minus the minor relapses: that one time I wanted to keep the condom wrapper from losing my virginity (mostly as a joke, right?), or the persistent need to get a piercing to commemorate every milestone I feel I’ve achieved. That was, until at the start of this semester, when I acquired a double bed – the dream of every UCUer.

Celebrations for the new treasure came swiftly and swept through my unit. Soon enough, people from all over campus, from X to Locke, came to admire the new tourist attraction standing proudly in the heart of my room. The bed was inaugurated with a screening of Wicked, attended by five of my unitmates, who were more shocked at how we all comfortably fit than the plot twists of the movie. On the 31st of January, a life-changing decision was made: I bought double bedding. This allowed the bed to finally unlock its full potential. It was beautiful. The bed stood gloriously in the center of my room, unleashing its mesmerizing splendor upon all those who dared to open the door, and filling with envy every passerby outside my window. Sure, in order to fit it in that sun-kissed spot, I had to move my desk into a corner with no natural light, nor access to electricity – but who cares about being able to write after 6 PM anyways?

Once my desk had been kicked out of the picture, the bond I developed with my bed was beautiful: not only did we spend every night together, but most of the day as well, consolidating our relationship across the seasons. And sure, dedicating an article to one’s bed might seem a bit hikikomori, but it has truly been my guardian angel through the semester, through thick and thin.

It has heard many late-night gossip sessions with my roommate before bed, hosted intense card tournaments, unforgettable movie nights, dance parties, violent pillow fights and group debriefs resembling the Roman Senate. It witnessed me and a friend struggle for three hours trying to hang waterfall fairy lights with washi tape (which have fallen on my head while sleeping multiple times). It has read my diary entries, hearing me giggle about a boy it was destined to meet only a few days later – and then graciously welcomed him as a frequent visitor. It has hosted friends from home, acting as a bridge between past and present. It was a warm backdrop to great memories, and an even warmer shelter in tough times. It didn’t complain when I woke up at 6 AM for my advanced mathematics final, when I couldn’t sleep through my tuberculosis-grade cough, or when I felt so alienated I couldn’t physically leave it for days. It never kicked me out, but embraced me more tightly at each time. It gave me a shoulder to cry on, whether for my frivolous situationship or for darker relapses in my eating disorder. Blood, sweat and tears (and many other unsanitary liquids, mostly icecream) were shed on this bed, and seem to proudly stain my white sheets no matter how many times I wash them – perhaps as a reminder of everything we’ve weathered together. 

So, I could try fighting Diederix to let me keep my beloved bed and ship it in a container, but I know my mother would not be thrilled at a random giant bed materializing in our house. For once, I will have to learn to let go and accept that my bed is going to have an emotional, and physical, affair with another student while I miss it from another continent. Maybe this whole semester was a lesson in not getting too attached to temporary things. Or, maybe, I should just grow up and stop romanticizing inanimate objects. Who knows.

All I know is I will miss my companion dearly – and what I will miss is not the bed itself, but the friends it hosted along the way.

Nah, prolly not.