Loud Steps and Strong-Smelling Cuisine: The Terror of Being Different
An account of my experiences of navigating roommate conflicts and finding my voice
#TheBeginning
It was a typical morning when I woke up at my usual time, ready to get some studying done before heading to the lab. Around 5 A.M., a noise from the kitchen drew my attention. Something was different. The sound of a pan sizzling, the smell of fried eggs in melted butter, and the beeping toaster announcing that two slices of bread were hot and ready—my roommate was awake. Hmm, this was unusual.
I came out of my room, dying to use the restroom, slowly collecting my thoughts.
“Morning,” said my roommate. The greeting felt a bit cold.
“Hey, morning! You woke up early today!” I replied.
“Yes. You woke me up,” he said.
I was surprised. “Really? What woke you up?” I asked.
“I heard you pacing in your room several times. Then you used the restroom, banging the door against the wall.” This time, his voice was firm.
“Huh?” I thought. “Did I really close the door loudly?” I quizzed myself. As far as I could recollect, my movements were discreet. I could remember taking extra care while closing the doors, gently turning the handle so it wouldn’t make a clunking sound. “Was I pacing?” I questioned myself again. The only movement I made was probably to use the restroom.
However, at this point, I was only dreading how much inconvenience I might have caused. “Sorry,” I mumbled, slowly gulping my remorse.
“It’s okay.”
#TheTerror
It was never “okay.”
The next few days were filled with nothing but complaints and texts picking at every little mistake I made. Why did I leave food bits in the garbage disposal? Why did I cook “strong-smelling dishes” late at night? Why did I move the towel bar so loudly?
A week ago, I was happy, boasting to my colleagues about how lucky I was to have such a great roommate. Especially because my ten years of experience sharing spaces have taught me to expect the least. This was the first time I’d had a roommate who was so clean and well-organized.
My first instinct was to blame myself and leave. I checked if there was a procedure for switching rooms, only to find out there was a hefty transfer fee of $200.. My finances wouldn’t allow it. I reached out to the Heads of the House, asking for help. An intervention was arranged to voice all the complaints in front of the Chair of Halls.
My roommate enacted how loudly I supposedly walked inside the room, thumping his toes as if to move the earth. Funnily, it all came down to me—I was told to be gentler with my steps and to stop using the kitchen past 10 P.M.
My second approach was to hide. I tiptoed around the apartment, planning my every move to avoid him. I stayed at the office as much as possible, coming home late. I monitored the window when he wasn’t in the kitchen and cooked only during that time to avoid seeing him. After cooking, I would check every nook and corner to ensure there wasn’t any dirt left behind.
I even changed my schedule, waking up later to avoid using the restroom. But there was always something that annoyed him. Sometimes, it was the trash I took out “untimely.” Other times, it was the scissors with a water stain on it because I had used and washed them. I was terrified of making a single mistake.
#TheHope
It was sometime late in the semester when I finally told myself: enough is enough. I was unable to focus on my research, constantly worrying about what would happen next. I had broken out of my original routine, which led to an even more lackluster performance in my courses. To sum it up, I was miserable. I decided it was time to fight back.
“Hey, please keep all your conversations in text. I don’t find physical confrontation very amusing, and to be honest, I’m scared of you.” I thought I should document everything for evidence.
“Hey, could you please keep the restroom clean after using it?” I finally voiced something that had been bothering me for a long time. I often found the floor covered with hair as if someone was running a barbershop.
That last complaint made him furious—so much so that he started cleaning the bathroom floor. I was in the kitchen when he announced, to my surprise, “Are you happy?” A passive-aggressive remark, even when he had replied in text: “Sure!”
This time, he emailed the Chair of Halls, attaching screenshots of all our past conversations—but conveniently removing the part where I had invited him to join an event! The audacity of this act left me flabbergasted. On one hand, I was worried that I would be pinned down and forced to correct myself. On the other, I felt completely misrepresented in the entire conversation.
Fortunately, I got lucky this time. The Chair of Halls recommended that one of us apply for a room switch. I clearly stated that my finances were weak, and my roommate agreed. Within a week, he packed up all his stuff and left.
I was finally myself again!
#NewBeginnings
It might be too soon to say that I have completely moved past this incident—I still keep my stuff on the designated side of the refrigerator. But sometimes, when I’m hungry and go straight to eating after preparing my food, I feel a sense of relief knowing that no one will knock on my door to complain about a messy workspace!
#Takeaway
Things that I learned from this incident:
1. Blaming yourself is easy, but standing up for yourself takes courage. It’s worth it in the end.
2. Don’t judge the book by its cover. Someone who seems perfect on the surface might not be so easy to live with.
3. Communication and boundaries are essential in shared spaces. Documenting issues and speaking up can make all the difference.
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