My roommate and I eat on the floor because there’s no space for a dining table.

The rustling of the sheets every night, as my roommate finds a comfortable spot in bed. The difficulty of closing my bathroom door, and the pain of getting it open. The entrance to my room, a colourful – and dangerous – array of shoes and more shoes; a Minesweeper affair. These are the things that have grown on me. These are the things that make my home.

Last week, as I took hold of the assessment brief, my first thought was, “There’s nothing interesting about my tiny two-bedroom studio.” As the days went by, however, and I did the readings and engaged in studio classes, I found that there are quite a lot of stories behind the place in which I currently reside; this student accommodation, RMIT Village, which I now call home.

I love cacti but I can never take care of them. This is my shrunken cactus which now resides in my bathroom.

I remember once having a conversation with my roommate, about two months back. We just got back from getting groceries. I lumped everything on our small kitchen counter and said, “I’m tired. It’s good to be home.” My roommate looked at me and said, “It’s kind of weird, don’t you think? That this place is now our home.” We talked about it, and realised that we have gone from saying I’m back in the Village to I’m back at home.

It might be true, that this really is home to me now, or it may be for the fact that saying “home” is easier on the tongue. I don’t quite know.

One thing I do know, though, is that there are many things about my dwarfish abode that grant me comfort, and ignite within me memories from long ago. For the past couple of days, I observed the few things that comprised and happened in my little space, and found that the few things I have hold many stories.

I talked to my roommate about it as well, as we have lived the past five months together, and it was only fitting that we discuss together about the many things that we have gone through since coming to Melbourne. Apart from exploring life in a student accommodation – as compared to back in Malaysia where I lived with my mother, brother, and dog – I also looked into days spent with my roommate in this two-bedroom studio.

My artistic mess. I’m not the best at being tidy.

What I have prepared is a collection of places and sounds in my student accommodation that I have made significant contact with, and also several artefacts that have impacted me in various ways. I came here with only a bed too springy for comfort, a dusty study table, a small kitchen with a roll of brand new cling wrap left by its previous owner, and a bathroom with stubborn strands of hair still lurking in the corners.

I have found that home isn’t just a building you go back to after a long day of work or classes. It is a venue you daily project your life and feelings onto; a place where you are always comforted.