Rooming with strangers—one Yalie's tale of woe

By Kavita Mariwalla

Roommate: noun. A person with whom one shares a room or apartment. Notice how the definition says nothing about being friends or getting along. Judging from my Yale experience, the definition should include the ability to make the first year of school completely unbearable.

Freshman year, I lived in the smallest room on Old Campus with three people who had one thing in common: their mutual dislike for each other. It wasn't three against one, or two against two, but every woman for herself. Of course, there were degrees of dislike and each of us took turns being on the bottom of the list. One of the first major fights happened just three weeks after school started. My boyfriend wanted to visit me at Yale before he left for college, so of course I told him he could, figuring nobody in my room would have a problem with someone camping out in our suite. I asked my roommates if he could sleep on the couch in the common room for a night, and instead of getting the expected "Sure," I heard, "I think we should talk about this." The long and short of it? My boyfriend got a hotel room.

Like most frosh, I came to Yale expecting to laugh and bond with my new roommates. I thought we'd stay up late at night procrastinating, and go to parties or movies together. My initial hopes may have been too high, because at the end of the year, one suitemate wrote a typed letter to the rest of us, carefully and specifically outlining why she hated each person. All I could think was that, hey, at least she had written to me.

Watching other frosh bond with and love their roommates definitely made our rooming situation a sore spot for all four of us. We all wanted it to work, but our personalities were completely at odds, so the rough times outweighed the good. Living in close quarters can be great for some, but when you don't get along with your roommates, even the space on your bed doesn't seem safe.

There was a silver lining: without ready-made friends in my room, I went out and found a group of friends. I was forced to look at my rooming situation from a Nietszchian perspective: that which does not kill you makes you stronger. I've lived in a single ever since, and I couldn't be happier, but I don't regret my experience. I wouldn't repeat it, but I've learned to appreciate it, and if nothing else, my roommate experience proves that roomies aren't for everyone.

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