You're looking around that weird room and it reminds you of a hotel room only no minibar or watercolor painting or ridiculously large nonfunctional air conditioner or TV with a remote screwed to the table. And the bed isn't made. But other than that, and the fact that the laundry basket is spilled over and someone's unmentionables are visible under what seems to be an old concert t-shirt, you almost think you're in just another anonymous hotel room.
You think of your own room, and how you have little childhood treasures that you don't dare get rid of, because first of all you can't just throw them away and it's unthinkable that someone else would accept ownership of them, but also what if one day you want to look at them or something and you spend an hour and a half searching for that little pink plastic heart locket that has a cartoon of a goose and "waddle I do without you?" inside only to find out that IT NO LONGER EXISTS? What then? A piece of your past has disappeared. And you're heartbroken. So you don't ever get rid of anything, not even that shirt from preschool that you always hated but is kind of cool in a way and it was so big then that it fits now... maybe you'll wear it one day, even if it is pink.
So back to that bare-bones room. It disgusts you, and you know why. This person doesn't attach memories to objects! How can you remember stuff if you don't have a visual reminder? Like that note on the fridge about the dentist appointment in two weeks... well you've never bothered to look at it, but you know it's there. To be precise, you're pretty sure it's there. You remember putting something up on the fridge. Maybe that was the picture of you in the tree trying to grab a cat and the cat was hissing... but still, it could have been the appointment reminder. And the reminder worked, you remember that your appointment it two weeks from yesterday... or maybe it was just yesterday.