An ode to a desk
It’s heavy, old, and has scribbles all over its body. But it is mine, and I love it.
My desk has been with me for at least three years. It used to be my dad’s, but then my parents gave it to me. When I got my desk, it was pretty clean, but it didn’t stay that way. It has paint smudges on top and underneath. My little brother even drew on it. But the important part was the creative adventures I had with it.
Unlike humans, my desk won’t get mad if I don’t do something correctly or if I mess it up (but my mom and dad might). It will keep silent so I can move on. Once I even tried to draw a mini mural of a mermaid and narwhal on it, but it’s not there anymore. I remember that around the color pencil case on my desk, there was a rectangular-ish outline of paint. When my dad saw it, he washed away the smudges on the desk. I was very sad when he did. If you look at the bottom of my desk, you will see lots of marks because I used to wipe the things on my hands (like dirty paint) under the table.
But setting the messes aside, it has changed a lot. There used to be folders, but now there is a mess box my dad gave me for my stuff. There used to be a corkboard hanging next to my desk, now there isn’t.
Yet some things haven’t changed so much. For example, my pencil cases haven’t really moved. They have, of course, been stored into boxes, but the boxes got plopped right back onto my desk.
My desk itself has moved, though, from the living room to the moving truck to one of the smaller rooms in the new house, and finally to its resting place in my room.
Although my desk appears to be a mess, what’s more important are the things I do there. Sometimes my desk is my art studio, with my paintbrushes and paints and papers. In fact, I did most of my paintings on my desk. Other times, I make jewelry on my desk. I make the necklaces and bracelets my friends and I wear now. Or, my desk is a crafting table, with my journals and notebooks and all the materials I make things with.
As you see, my desk has been my companion for a while. Though in the beginning, I wanted to keep the mess as I was too lazy to clean it up, now I am the one to clean it up. I’ve realized that even if I do clean things sometimes now that I’m older and getting more like my dad, my creativity will never be washed away. Not by water, not by rain, not by coffee. Messes are my way to express myself. Besides, even if I do clean it, a few days later it’ll be messy again!
