Every time I come home, I always forget to take pictures of my room. It is the epitome of "stuff". Layers and stacks of trinkets, magazine scraps, dresses, ribbons, bright pink walls. My life the past six or seven years. my parents are about to redo it, but I made them promise that they would not touch the wall I am collaging. It's my baby. Even though I hardly live there anymore, I couldn't bear to see it gone.