“College is the time of change, everything is going to be new”. Tell me something I don’t know.
Upon arriving at university, I found that my harbored ideals of a collegiate world riddled with “the new” would not disappoint. This noted “newness” was found in new people, and not only that, but new social interactions (no one seems to warn you how many social interactions with freshly-known people you’ll be having on the daily in college… it’s wearying for introverts such as myself). This “newness” was found in a new environment – Santa Barbara, nestled amongst the sea, which sure beat the landlocked bubble of my small hometown. This “newness” came in new experiences; falling in love for the first time, late nights out that tasted of a new begotten freedom, and strolling the campus grounds in the soft April mornings.
It was almost as if I had gone through every new thing that I would be expecting in college, all before I had even set foot in Santa Barbara. I had prepared myself for just about everything (I even bought doubles of every necessary toiletry… just in case). That is, up until I was forced to navigate the perilous waters of being in a relationship whilst sharing a room with my two roommates, who also happened to be in relationships.
In theory, the topic doesn’t sound too complicated. In my youthful blindness, I thought so too. Alas, having to see my roommate’s boyfriend wander our home shirtless every morning after he stayed over the previous night certainly left an undesirable image etched… no, burned into my brain indefinitely. Okay, he’s not a bad guy, perhaps that comment came from having to change in the bathroom one time too many while he was in the bedroom.
On that point, sharing a room while being in a relationship is accompanied with a multitude of borderline awkward scenarios that I had not prepared myself for, hence this article (a warning to all readers with a s/o and a triple bedroom). Not being able to change in your own room is just the tip of the iceberg.
Diving deeper, I found it almost comical to see my bedroom, meant to fit three people, fit five in one night. To set the scene, my roommate and I both had our significant others over, cozily tucked into our twin size bunk beds. Sure, it allowed for ample closeness that night, but after breathing in the same air that four others had been exhaling… things began to feel a little weird. It was then that I realized that having my s/o over in a shared room was a delicate and dangerous dance, and I was playing with fire.
After the door to co-ed sleepovers was opened, I found that the lack of any established boundaries had left things spinning a bit out of control. Not only were sleepovers allowed, but they were also increasingly common, so much so that I was used to seeing my roommate’s s/o almost every night. I began to reminisce about the times that I could freely change clothes in my room, let alone have the room to myself for a few hours.
Thus, if anyone reading this happens to find themselves in a similar predicament, I highly advise toward enacting firm boundaries about the amount of time you and your roommate’s lovers are allowed in a shared room. If not, your triple bedroom may become a sextuple bedroom in the blink of an eye.