Freshman year. A time of wide-eyed hope, overflowing ramen cartons, and navigating the social intricacies of a communal shower schedule. It was also a crash course in cohabitation, thanks to my two roommates. Let’s just say that going from the solo sanctuary of my childhood bedroom to sharing a shoebox-sized dorm room with two complete strangers was an adjustment that rivaled learning the periodic table.
Before college, my experience of sharing a room was limited to sleepovers with my cousins. My bedroom back home was my fortress of solitude, a place where I could be myself without anyone bothering me. My dorm room was tiny, like a shoebox with a mini-fridge. I had to share the closet with two other people, which was like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. It was a big adjustment, going from having my own space to sharing it with other people. I was navigating the minefield of dorm laundry with the precision of a special ops team, discovering the hidden magic of microwavable pizza (questionable ingredients be damned), and whispering secrets to my roommates from our bunk beds under the glow of LED lights.
Fueled by caffeine and existential dread, late-night food runs became our bonding ritual. They were my midnight therapists, personal cheerleaders, and unwitting participants in the world’s most bizarre culinary research projects. But beyond the shared meals and microwave mishaps, my roommates taught me some invaluable life lessons. They were living proof that laughter is the best cure for a bad hair day and that friendship can bloom over burnt popcorn and impromptu karaoke sessions (even if it’s just us belting out Taylor Swift in pajamas at 3 AM).
My first roommate, someone who could find a place for everything and keep everything in its place, showed me the power of color-coded Excel sheets and the art of folding clothes until they resembled origami masterpieces. My other roommate, the resident free spirit, reminded me to embrace spontaneity, dance like nobody’s watching (even if nobody’s watching), and blast heavy metal music on my headphones when struggling with my chem homework.
Sure, there were moments of clashing personalities and territorial disputes over fridge space, and clashes over late-night study sessions. But even then, we learned to communicate, compromise, and, most importantly, laugh at ourselves. I learned that it’s okay to not have everything perfect all the time. And that it’s actually kind of fun to live with other people, even if they do drive you crazy sometimes. We were living proof that sometimes, the best friendships bloom in the most unexpected places, like a shoebox-sized dorm room with questionable communal showers.
Looking back as a sophomore, I realize my college experience wouldn’t have been the same without these two. They taught me the art of finding joy in the mundane, the power of simply being present, and the importance of a good belly laugh, even if it’s fueled by burnt popcorn and questionable pizzas.