Clean slate

Explore the room you’re in as if you’re seeing it for the first
time. Pretend you know nothing. What do you see? Who is
the person who lives there?

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. 

Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, 

nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: 

it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

(c) J.R.R. Tolkien

Comfort.

That word came to my mind when I entered the room for the first time -  a room so light and big, it seems to me it's just too spacious for one girl. 

- A Girl? 

Yeah, a girl. Firstly, only a girl would choose creamy-lime wallpapers for her room. It's not a boyish colour, indeed. Then, there is an army of teddy bears and porcelain dolls here waiting for her. And you can see her in the photos.

Photos.

They are everywhere, so bright and colourful and ... "unprofessional".  

Roses, a perfectly blue sky with sheep-like clouds, a stubborn cat, a sunny beach, American and German flags, waving in the air breeze, and smiling happy faces of her and her nearest and dearest... all these pictures remind me of a jam jar closed tight to keep it fresh, because memories, even the brightest and the most precious ones are sooner or later forgotten. 

What else is there? 

All pieces of furniture - a desk with a cupboard above it, a mirror, a chest of drawers and a tall wardrobe in the corner - match each other perfectly...so perfectly it makes me feel sick. I mean, it could be such a boring choice of furniture if there wasn't a massive round-shaped armchair in front of the desk instead of an ordinary chair. A nice and comfortable sofa next to the wall, with piles of lime cushions of a different size on it, makes it cosy as well. 

But what really catches my attention is a windowsill with four amazingly huge orchids there.

It's winter in Russia, and you can see nothing but snow out of the window, it's so freaking cold you want  to never come out of that room with a cosy armchair... But the orchids, those delicate flowers which supposed to be lithe and weak, are strong and tall, as if spring has come to this room a little bit earlier. 

I can't say much of this girl right now, neither her exact age nor what she's dreaming about in the middle of the night sitting in her comfortable armchair with a purple mug full of tea (I've seen one on the desk), but there's one thing I'm sure about - 

a girl with such orchids can't be a really bad person.