【by Pari Chouhan】

On the day that I entered my college dorm for the first time, the air hung thick with the warmth of a summer afternoon, carrying a distinct scent that mingled the nostalgia of home with the anticipation of the unknown. The familiar notes of my favorite morning dew deodorant from my clothes now mingled with the unique musk of this new adventure, creating a perfume that whispered both comfort and excitement.

As I stepped into the compact room, the scent intensified, intertwining with the woody fragrance exuding from the very simple, functional furniture. The touch of the furniture was unlike anything I had experienced – the cool, hard plastic-like dark blue mattress under my fingers was a stark departure from the warmth and softness of my sister’s shared bed back home. Yet, strangely, it felt expansive, as if this small, cramped room had magically unfolded into a space large enough to contain the entirety of my newfound independence.

The late August heat clung to my skin, a sticky and sweaty reminder of the unfamiliar climate, but the excitement of being on the other side of the world, alone, overshadowed any discomfort. The room, with its modest dimensions, seemed to expand with possibilities, echoing the vastness of the uncharted future. The sunlight poured through the window, casting a warm glow on the red-bricked courtyard outside, which I learned later is lovingly or perhaps mockingly called the ‘concrete jungle’. Each brick felt a tactile connection to the stories of others who had embarked on similar journeys. Running my fingers across the textured surface of the creamy white wall, I felt the weight of their experiences and the promise of my own. The silence of the afternoon was occasionally punctuated by the distant wail of sirens, a contrast to the quiet streets of my home in India. The sound, though foreign, became a rhythm in the background, a reminder of the constant pulse of this unfamiliar environment.

The kind shuttle driver took us for a very American lunch of burgers, fries, and a can of Coke before dropping us off. As I savored the taste of leftover fries lingering in my mouth, the flavor took on a new meaning – a taste of independence, of American unfamiliarity, a culinary metaphor for the adventure that lay ahead. The sensory symphony of the room, the courtyard, the distant sirens, and the taste of fries converged, creating a vivid tapestry that encapsulated the excitement and weirdness of living in a small dorm room, which oddly felt big enough to contain the entirety of my whole new life.