I did not inherit my mother’s flair for interior decorating (I introduced voluntary inertia into our bloodline instead), so my bedroom is adorned only by a queen sized bed, five pillows, a stereo and a mirror. It should therefore be enough to perform a quick vacuum-and-relocate-the-mess-into-the-closet-job to keep it orderly but instead, it took me a total of five hours to clean up a mess that should not have been there in the first place.

I point the blame for the prolonged lifespan of the mess in my room to a shoebox aptly titled “The Letter Box!”. In it were many letters from classmates in the Philippines, my parents but mostly from friends and boyfriends. It left me amused for four and a half of the five hours I spent confined in my room. I chuckled at many letters, giggled uncontrollably at some and laughed hysterically at others. In sum, it was a discovery that (had my bladder been weak) would have made me pee my pants.

The most interesting finds were these:

“You’re a nice, quiet and sweet girl. Sometimes, you look smart”.

“She’s crystal clear and she’s never had a beer!”

“I can’t believe the ouija board said we would have sex on June 19th!
I have to get a lock for my door”.

“I have taped a cigarette to this letter for your trip to Lorne. I hope you have a good time, a functioning lighter and realise (as you smoke this cigarette) that I am a legend of unforgettable sorts”.

I also discovered a letter I had written to a close friend. In the letter I expressed concern for the direction my life was heading and as a result, I promised to stop smoking and drinking, to exercise, study harder, gossip less and make my parents proud, but the most far-fetched vow I made was this one:

“…I am not going to have sex until I’m pregnant”.

I was 14, stupid and believed I could achieve anything but I’m not sure how I expected to keep this ambitious vow of chastity.