Four years, four apartments, four roommates, four different experiences.
My roommate saga is just that, a saga. Maybe not of Lord of the Rings or Star Wars proportions, but, then again, I don’t live in Middle Earth or a galaxy far, far away.
I’ve lived with a nocturnal person, bare walls, a horrible roommate and my best friend. Miraculously, I’ve lived to tell the tale.
My first roommate, freshman year, was a night owl. It could have been worse, but considering we shared a 15×15 feet dorm room, it was not fun.
When I was awake, she was asleep. I’m anything but a night person, and when I would go to sleep, she just was getting geared up. A music performance graduate student, she had late afternoon or evening classes and, thankfully for me, practiced at the Music and Dramatic Arts building many nights. At least she was a heavy sleeper, and my blow dryer revving up in the early morning never bothered her.
After a year of sharing too little space with a stranger, an acquaintance and I decided to get an apartment.
It was a classic first apartment. The living room consisted of two couches (at least they matched), a coffee table, a huge entertainment center that only held a TV and completely bare walls.
My second roommate and I got along fine, but we rarely saw each other. At the beginning of the year, when we were home at the same time, we tended to get into marathon conversations, but because we both had so much to do, we basically ended up ignoring each other so we could get work done.
I think I’ve talked to her more in the few months of the spring semester than in the last six months we lived together.
After ten months of living with white walls, I decided my next apartment would not be dull.
Two days after I moved into my third place with my third roommate, the living room walls were covered with nice posters in cheap frames and large prints of photos I took on trips. The entertainment center overflowed with my antique camera collection from home. I bought silk flowers and coffee table books on sale to fill empty spots.
I had a nicely decorated apartment, but unfortunately, the other key aspect to peaceful college living was absent.
Through the years, I’ve learned if you respect your roommates they generally respect you back. It worked with my freshman roommate; I kept the noise down in the morning, and she tried to not be loud at night. My second roommate and I didn’t see each other much, but we were cognizant of each other.
But my junior year roommate and I were not a match made in roommate heaven. In fact, by the end of March, outright hostility reigned.
I don’t remember why it started or who was in the wrong, (not true, but it’s a long story and your time is worth more than that drama) but the lines of communication shut down. We never recovered. You don’t have to be friends with your roommates, but being able to sit at the same time in the living room you both pay equal rent for is a very nice thing.
It got to the point where we both retreated to our rooms like boxers in a prize fight and our only communication was the dry erase board in the dining area.
This year, I’m living with the person who has been my best friend throughout college. I heard all the advice that you should never live with your best friend because it will ruin your friendship, blah blah blah.
But Leila and I decided that we were mature adults capable of keeping the lines of communication open. She had not had much luck with roommates either, and after my hellish year, I was ready for a change.
I never knew how much fun living with a friend could be. I’m writing this right now with my roommate standing behind me talking about graduation and law school. We watch movies and TV, go out to dinner and have mutual friends over. We’ll still be friends after this year, but I’ll be sad when we move on, her to law school and me to a real job (that’s another column, too.)