Descriptive Essay: Not Just Any Living Room

Not Just Any Living Room

If you walk into my living room, you’ll see nothing out of the ordinary. Just a cozy little room with two sofas that lay against two of the four walls. The third wall has a TV and VCR case with many pictures and certificates put on display. The fourth wall has a computer table with a little desk on the side. In the middle of the room lies an oval rug with swirly patterns and on top of that lies a small coffee table. This room has everything that any other living room would have in it, but for me it has more than just something normal. In this room are many artifacts that carry memories that belong to me.

On the left side of the TV case, on the second shelf towards the bottom stands my 8th grade graduation diploma. Whenever I look at the certificate with the leather bound cover I remember of when I first received it.

“Jasmin Husain,” called Ms. Knight, our school counselor.  It was time for me to go and take my diploma from Ms. Sydnor. I slowly walked around the empty and barren stairs in front of me until the top of the glossy wooden stairs of the stage. I went down the stairs one by one carefully holding on to the cold steel railing in case I trip on my dress because of these ridiculous heels. After I make it down the stairs I walked two feet over to Ms. Sydnor. She shook my sweaty hand saying the words “Congratulations Jasmin, you’ve come a long way and you have a long way to go.” She handed me the navy blue, leather bound diploma. Caring the thick diploma I started to follow my friend out of the Gymnasium door.

This is one of the most important memories in my life. It was a moment in my life where I made a transition from middle school to high school. I felt accomplished, like a just arrived at a goal that I was waiting to reach my entire life. I feel like my diploma represents that goal that I’ve reached. It shows that I am in a way that I was growing up. Not in inches or centimeters but from feeling completed.

As I look back at the TV case more artifacts start to bring back more memories. On the bottom shelf of the TV case lies an old, dusty, black VCR with two buttons missing. I start to remember how many times in my childhood my family had to replace the VCRs because my little sister and me breaking them. As I observe the broken buttons another memory runs across my mind.

This was the fourth time that we were going out to Wal-Mart to buy a TV since we had come to Philadelphia. The first two times it was my fault. The first time I stuck sugar daddy candies into the new cassette holder. The second time I’d spilled Pepsi. At least now I was a big girl, I was seven years old and I knew how the world worked. I’ve matured over the past two years. I know all the specific things that make dad upset. So I have long ago stopped committing those crimes. Tajnia on the other hand still hasn’t learned the lesson.