t is one of life's finely tuned ironies that the bedroom should be both a girl's first sanctuary and her first prison. Madeline Hing, 20, knows this well. Two years ago—on a pandemic-mandated gap year—she found herself fresh out of school with nowhere to go and began to fidget with yarn. With one whim, a switch was flipped. The room took on the gaiety so friendly to that shy and illusive spirit—the imagination— and sent her fingers flying. Within months, she had picked up knitting,
