Descriptive essay

Description of a place: A room where I once stayed.

It is where I spent days and nights till December 2002 - Room 1, first floor, Martin Hostel.

 This is one of the twenty four standard dormitory rooms in this hostel for girls.  When one gets near, one would find that the door which faces the east has its lower bit cut off.  Thus its height is only from a person’s head to knees.  Each time the stainless steel door knob is pressed and the wooden door is opened, the pink paint begins to flake.  The interior of the room is then immediately revealed.

A squeak comes to one’s ears as one puts her first foot on the wooden parquet floor. Some of the parquets are so worn off that no one could imagine if there was once any pattern on them.  Every crack within each row of board is full of irregular patches, dust and dirt.  When one puts her next foot on the floor, not only the same funny bang is heard but the other end of the wood goes up by a few centimetres.  The noise is so disturbing that whoever catches this squeak would definitely think of covering her heard with the nearest available blanket from one of the four beds.

Four ‘double-decker’ beds are each placed against the four walls of therectangular room.  Every bed is furnished the same: the mattress of each bed is lined with a green bed-sheet of bamboo pattern.  God knows how many years they have been used in this dormitory.  I remember Sharon’s bed was an exceptional one which was covered up with her cuddly Forever Friends and a four-foot My Melody.  Each bunk bed is for only one boarder for only the upper deck is a bed.  The lower ‘deck’ is the study desk with drawers, wardrobe and a book shelf. It is not uncommon to see piles of books on anyone’s desk.  They can be either on the shelf behind a sliding door, or just stacked surrounding a narrow space for one to write and read.  The chair provided is a strange sight.  It is not any chair that fits a wooden study desk but a plastic balcony chair moulded from white PVC.

The ceiling is not something one can see anywhere.  It is not the usual plain, flat soft board ceiling as in any lecture theatre.  It is actually the lower side of the roof which slopes down to the walls on both sides, like the letter ‘A’.

The white fan with three blades hanging from the middle part of the ceiling is often switched on and the blades spin slowly.  The ventilation is mild and the moving air stirs a cool feeling in the room.  There are two fluorescent lamps and a bulb of only 40 watts at the ceiling exactly above the fan.  They light up the whole room.  When only the bulb is switched on, the room is lit with a mellow yellow light.

There are two opened windows, each facing directly the door.  The height of the window stretches from my waist level to the upper deck of the bunk bed.  Casuarinas are seen swaying in the wind outside through the glass.  However, the view is cut into ten equal rectangles by the window panes.

This is not a Spartan dormitory room like many hostels; of course it is no four-star hotel room. Though I no longer stay there, each time I think of it, I can clearly visualize the whole place, its details and the atmosphere.  This is all because it is so familiar to me after being a dweller there for years.