In my 20 years, I have had 4 desks. That's one every half a decade. All had previous owners, stories and lives. This is a short scribble introducing my desks to the world. They have been good to me.
I remember the first desk I ever owned. I was so excited for that piece of furniture to be proudly displayed in my room. I was being upgraded from the desk I shared with my brother – that grey rectangular slab that was squished between the TV console and the back brick wall of the TV room – to my very own space in my bedroom, where I could do grown-up things like study, write books and make plans. (Grown-ups are always making plans.) Despite leaving that grey desk that could be adjusted to varying heights with the turn of a knob, I was still pretty pumped about my very own desk. I just had to find it.
The desk came to me in a cloud of smoke with the slamming of the car’s brakes as my dad skidded to a halt, and pulled up next to a pile of junk on someone’s lawn. Behind broken light bulbs, old chairs and a doll’s house, there it sat – my first ever desk. It was not my dream desk, but it was mine. I called him Sam. Sam was bundled into the back of my dad’s van and taken to his new home, my bedroom. I took good care of Sam by meticulously polishing his glass top, and proudly displaying my bright coloured pencils and highlighters in the divider that was on the side of the desk. After many loving, fulfilling years, our relationship came to a standstill. We had a falling-out, and I wanted a new desk. Because Sam’s glass top was used for various projects around the house, I no longer had a desk, but just a shell, so I dumped Sam for good. It was a bit rough on my behalf.
With exams soon approaching I needed to find a replacement for Sam. Fast. So Sally, one of those foldable picnic tables came into my life. With red wax smeared across her from past camping trips, Sally had character. Our relationship was very practical. There were no sparks flying, but we both got along, and I was soon happily stretching my arms and spreading every book I owned across her spacious surface.
Sally was pushed out by Bruce-the-Used. Bruce sort of pushed his way into my life. He had been previously owned by my brother, but was vacationing in my room while my brother was painting his room. Bruce never returned from his vacation, and Sally somehow made her way into my brother’s room. As Bruce was weary and had had a previous relationship with my brother, I thought it was best if we said our goodbyes, making room for a small, delicate white desk to come into my room. Sheniqua, my current desk, made her way, all high and mighty, from my cousin’s house, and is presently littered with the contents of my entire bedroom supported by her dainty legs.
I have studied, created, laughed, cried, emptied my heart and soul to these desks, and I would like to thank them for never collapsing under all the sheer emotions and craziness I have thrown at them.
Thank you to all my past, present and future desks.