Everyone who comes into my apartment, starting around the beginning of October, always has some sort of reaction.
Whether it be shock to see the scarecrow decorations on the wall, laughter at the pumpkin on the floor, or surprise that someone would actually decorate their whole apartment for Halloween, it’s always something.
I always have a reaction too, when I come into the living room and there’s a witch staring at me over the dinner table.
Nostalgia.
And it’s just because of this feeling that I love to decorate.
From the youngest age I can remember, my mom loved to decorate our house for every holiday. In fact, we have a mini plastic Christmas tree permanently in our living room that she changes to accommodate each holiday. Our tree could be red, white, and blue with stars and stripes, or covered with green hats and clovers, depending on the time of year. That tree is just one decoration though, surrounded by dozens of others like it, brightening up every corner of our living room in preparation for any upcoming holiday.
And that’s just how my room at college ends up. My roommate last year dealt with me spending hours pampering our door (and admittedly ripping off some of the paint), to capture each holiday just right, and saw me stick up over 100 hearts on the walls for Valentine’s Day (and then scrub off the leftover glue after taking them down). I hung snowflakes from the ceiling (until I was told they were a fire hazard), and spent an hour looking for Easter window clings (only to forget to bring them back to school with me). Now, my new roommates this year are dealing with my obsession, too, starting with Halloween (and ten times as much since now there’s ten times the space).
I decorate for a lot of reasons, but one in particular stands out as my favorite. Yes, I do it because I love the reactions of people coming in, and because it’s truly fun and exciting to be creative, but I mainly do it because decorating reminds me of my childhood.
It reminds me of the hours I spent with my sister, debating the perfect placement of the figures in our ceramic village; the cobwebs around the bannister as we left the house to prowl the neighborhood with my dad trick-or-treating each year; the Easter grass I stepped around to avoid as I raced to collect chocolate eggs.
I love the way that orange and black streamers remind me of picking out a costume that really never ended up looking how I pictured, and I love how hanging up a Santa head can remind me of the hours I spent in front of a hot stove making cookies to avoid the cold storm outside.
Decorating reminds me of the holidays, it reminds me of my family, and it reminds me of home. No matter what city I’m in, who I’m with, or what I’m doing, I can always look at the ghost on the wall and remember my home. This is something I know I can continue long into adulthood.
So throw a skeleton on your door and put a couple of gourds on your desk. Maybe it’ll start a tradition that’ll last a lifetime.
