OGLE-TR-56

OGLE-TR-56 is a solitary G-type star located in the constellation Sagittarius, notable for hosting one of the first detected exoplanets, OGLE-TR-56b, in a remote and isolated region of space.

The Last Night in Bedroom X

I call the bedroom my "high school bedroom" because I moved in just as I started studying at my humble little performing arts college. I had survived several years in the dense and unforgiving Sydney traffic before the world collapsed a bit for my whole family. My dad’s chronic illness had begun to overpower him in the corporate world; I was being traumatized by a teacher who had certainly peaked in high school; and then I was led to the laneway behind the school and told by a “friend” the various ways I could end my life. His house was damp, crusted with mould, and his grandparents wore dirty clothes that already carried the smell of decomposition. Late at night, my dad would drive me around (I soon realized how relaxing a car ride could be), while the Bee Gees droned on, trying to reassure me that everything would be fine.

I was a husk of myself when we finally reached Perth. My room reflected this. It was juvenile, furnished with IKEA pieces my mum had mostly chosen—just a safe spot for me to read, study, and think. Over time, things became strained between my mum and me, and my room gradually turned into a sanctuary. I ate there; I hoarded art supplies and games so I wouldn’t have to be berated in the living room. I think I knew in my heart that while things might eventually improve between us, they wouldn’t for a while. The kind of person I was, the body I inhabited, and the things I wanted for that body were completely at odds with who she wanted me to be.

I became addicted to material goods. If my parents messed up, they would give me gifts, never quite managing to express themselves with words. By my final year of high school, I’d amassed a lovely collection of overpriced mahogany furniture. Great for TikTok, impressive to my ex-boyfriend, but to be honest, it held a lot of static and discomfort. It was more a refuge than a home, an escapist fantasy in which I imagined I was the only person in that “dark academia” bedroom, safe from harm. The ensuite mirror (I had the largest kids’ bedroom) had seen it all: tears, deliberations, the faint sparks of happiness toward the end. It harbored something dark. And my room was always dim—so dim that my Vitamin D deficiency was no joke.

You might look at that room and think it beautiful, envy my belongings. But the trade-off was that my entire life and self were questioned incessantly. Late at night, the same woman would come in and verbally bludgeon me until I was crying, and drinking, and wandering through the nearest graveyard, hoping ghosts existed because I needed someone to talk to. That same woman would stand in the foyer of my apartment years later, suggesting particular furniture, asking to be unblocked (no), and worrying about my lonely present.

I suppose, at its core, there was love. I could sense it sometimes, as if from distant galaxies. But I could never be certain whether the light came from long-dead stars or ones still alive light-years away.

Welcome Wounds

I had an important surgery about two and a half weeks ago. The details don’t really matter; what matters is that it removed a great deal of psychological and physical pain from my life. Physically, I can’t move my arms much; there are numb patches that feel odd in the shower; and in the course of recovery I’ve realized how much stubble and chest hair I can grow (hard to shave and wash properly now). Despite the fearmongering, anger, and threats that followed my surgical consultation in July, I know I chose correctly. I feel at home in my body. There was no post-surgical depression; barely twelve hours after the procedure, gruesome surgical site and all, I felt only elation. A warm welcome into the me I’d imagined long before I recognized him.

After a few weeks of binge-watching movies in Bedroom X, I packed up and moved into my new apartment. The ceilings are high, the sheer curtains lovely, there’s space for a study, and ample storage in the bedroom. The bathrooms have skylights so I almost never flick the lights on. The building is an architect’s paradise, practically gloating when you step inside. It feels like living in a vast art gallery. I’m not sure how much I deserve it.

It’s too hot to meet my neighbors yet, but the person opposite me has a large red Christmas ribbon on their door. I’m tempted to buy a wreath to one-up them, but I’m broke. My parents helped with the furniture, and any extras are now on me. I had this burning desire to buy a keyboard or digital piano. I did, and now I’m broke—but I can’t wait to play Chopin. That feels more important.

I took leave from work for about a month, but now that I’m more lucid, I crave something to do—or at least some amusement. The TV is huge, intimidating for someone used to watching movies on a twenty-four-inch iMac. My office is set up upstairs, and it’s nice to read Oliver Sacks in the therapy-style armchair. I don’t need Spotify there; my vinyl collection is excessive enough. Note to self: I really want a Ruth Etting or Japanese ambient vinyl to complete it.

My days currently involve waking up, brushing my teeth, showering, carefully applying iodine to the surgical wounds and waiting for old blood to fall off, washing my face, going downstairs, gaming, cooking, washing dishes, reading, sometimes doing the New York Times crossword, losing brain cells on TikTok, and stalking everyone I know (especially those who don’t want to know me). I should appreciate this period of nothingness before my Honours year begins. Then I’ll regret not enjoying this stasis, as everything will become too fast, too loud, and too full of paper.

Solarion

I like plans, gentle routines, and some sense of guidance from a calendar. Speaking of 2025 calendars, I’m torn between a Ukiyo-e style or a classic art nouveau/deco–themed one. I’ll have to think about it. For now, it’s just me pacing these carpeted stairs and sitting on the velvet couch. On Fridays I’ll be driven home for Shabbos, have dinner with my brothers, and probably snoop around for items I left in my old bedroom.

In a month or so, I’ll start driving lessons—maybe biweekly. I don’t particularly want to, but a psychologist without a car is often stuck, and I might need to go rural for a placement. Maybe I’ll even be good at it. I’ve felt more in control of my body recently. Perhaps once or twice a month I’ll head north to the countryside, revisit the Noble Hill, bring a sketchbook, and lie in a field without layering myself in ten blankets.

This year, I’ll try to dress better. I’ll linger in libraries (I believe I’ve finally unlocked the postgrad section) and maybe charm my future supervisor into letting me back into that quaint psychology office. When I’m healed, I’ll get a gym membership and even try rock climbing, aiming for Andrew Scott–level forearms. I can picture myself getting quite built—hopefully my shirts won’t split at the seams. Every time I start lifting, I revert to T-shirts to avoid bursting a button-up.

I plan to dive into cooking as well. I’m an obsessive viewer of those Japanese home vlogs and should probably start collecting side plates, a wooden tray, maybe a bento box, to commit fully to that vision. They appeal to me, someone who already eats a lot of grilled fish. I want to learn how to cook a proper steak. Lately, I’ve been living off rotisserie chicken, microwave meals, fried eggs, and snacks. Great for protein, bland for creativity. Once things settle, I might create a little cookbook folder of favorite recipes. That could be nice.

And in the future, I hope someone lovely visits my home. I’ll wear an apron, make crêpes in the morning, and in the evening pour wine and try something nice—likely pasta, because it’s hard to mess up. In the more distant future, maybe I’ll have friends over for a dinner party. I can set up a chessboard on the coffee table and introduce them to my slightly pretentious music selection. Nothing is impossible.

For now, I’ll focus on healing, eating well, and drinking enough water (I’m not doing great on that today). Maybe I should read more and scroll less. Memes about this Luigi guy are fun, but I need the Honours mindset soon enough. At the end of the day, I’m not working on criminal psychology. Updates soon, probably. I’m bored.