Returning to my dorm and waking up sick the next morning has led me to contemplate the character of my place of dwelling.
It is walls with paint peeling at the weight of my command strips only to reveal another layer.
It is the rat living in my wall, whose pitter-patter keeps me company.
It is the furnace caked with residue from its past residents.
It is the feeling of encapsulation that we pretend is the gravity of historical presence but is likely just dust creeping into our lungs.
It is ‘quaint’, to put it nicely.
It is the two stalls two showers two sinks bathroom that we, 30 students, share.
It is my friend, my foe, and unfortunately, my place of living.
It is Brooks Hall.
Brooks Hall in All its Glory via Bwog Archives