The moment I slid open the door to Gonzaga 233, duffel bag in one hand and pillows delicately balanced underneath my other arm, my jaw hit the floor.
I had known I would be living in a triple room for months, and yet for some reason, I expected the room to actually accommodate three people. Instead, what met my eyes was a closet-like room with three beds practically piled on top of one another.
To make matters worse, my father had gotten lost on the car ride up, so we were more than an hour late. What seems like a trivial amount of time was a valuable window of opportunity now slammed shut. My tardiness enabled one of the girls to completely take over an entire side of the cell, which she apparently felt entitled to.
As her mother fluffed her excessive number of throw pillows (an act that I interpreted as almost smug), I scanned the space. My new roommate, who I’ll refer to as Ana, had thought it appropriate to bring a trunk, an extra chest of drawers, about a thousand yaffa blocks and even an extra chair to lounge in.
Meanwhile, the side of the room I was so graciously allotted by Ana to share with Julie (whose name has also been changed), the third roommate who had yet to arrive, was so crammed with the University’s furniture that I couldn’t even reach my desk without physically crawling over Julie’s. This was just the beginning of my atrocious freshman year. To describe Ana as moody would be an understatement. Julie and I approached her several times, requesting she remove some of her luxuries so we could divvy up any additional space fairly, and each request resulted in Ana storming out of the room in an absolute huff, irrationally telling us that we weren’t being fair.
She also used to have days where she would just skip class, sleeping for hours. We weren’t allowed to turn on the lights or make any sounds. At 3 p.m., complete silence and absolute darkness isn’t too much to ask, is it?
Although Ana received a new package in the mail stuffed with food and treats every other day, she stole our food. Repeatedly, food wrappers fell from beneath her sheets onto the floor, exposing her theft. One time, she even attempted to clandestinely nosh on one of my favorite candy bars right in front of me; she concealed the precious cargo beneath her hand. Whenever there was a lull in the conversation, she would turn her back to me and sneak a bite, as if I wouldn’t notice.
Surviving alongside such an inconsiderate, unbalanced individual was a challenge, a task only slightly less difficult than resisting the urge to change the locks on the door or, on some days, push her out the window.
Your college experience is highly dependent on how comfortable you are in your dorm. If your housing situation is stressful, all other areas of your life are also stained with the anxiety you experience in the refuge that is supposed to be your room.
In order to survive my first year without heading for the hills or transferring (I looked at both of these options as “the easy way out” and tried desperately to stick it out), I took several steps to ease the tension.
Whenever I left Gonzaga 233, I tried to take a deep breath and leave behind all negative emotions associated with the room. If Ana was in the midst of one of her exasperating emotional fits, or if I had just caught her red-handed rifling through my clothes, I tried to abandon my anger at the door as I left the room.
I also sought refuge in other areas of campus: the library, the campus center, and especially the gym.
I also used my discomfort of staying in the dorm to my advantage. I couldn’t just crawl back in bed with the covers over my head; Ana was always in the room. I was forced to leave, meet new people and join different organizations to whittle away any spare time that might force me to come into contact with Ana.
I hated being in Gonzaga, so I took every opportunity to stay as far away from my room as possible. This enabled me to connect with an assortment of other people all over campus.
Whenever I did spend time with Ana, I made every possible effort to be cordial to her. After all, as much as she made my life miserable, I reckoned that returning the favor was simply bad karma. I shrugged off her blatant rude behavior as a character flaw and sought comfort in the fact that I knew she wouldn’t be my roommate for more than a year.
Three years later, my freshman year in Gonzaga 233 all seems like some distant nightmare. However, in addition to making me a stronger person and building character, it also gave me a newfound appreciation for sanity in others.
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