Good roommates are a rare species. They hide in the most unexpected flats, usually in inhospitable districts, dwelling in the smallest rooms, sharing their orange juice and living peaceful lives. For the last years I’ve had a bunch of roommates, and unfortunately I am probably more qualified to explain what bad ones are.
I don’t need to think that much to remember Wilda, she was certainly not a cool element in the house. I'll never forget our first conversation, when I landed in what she called 'her kitchen'. "So, you are from Spain, right? I’ve always wondered what did you guys do with all the gold you stole from us, back in 1533."
I also remember Chi-Chi and his wonderful collection of acoustic and electric guitars. Whenever his majesty decided to leave for the weekend, I was expected to be in charge of his showy humidifier. I had to spend my two days of freedom with an alarm in my wristwatch to make sure his treasures didn’t suffer dehydration.
There was also Susana, the perfect example of a good roommate… with the worst boyfriend a human could possibly have, making us the honor of his never ending visit. God, I really disliked that guy.
But then I think about Xavier, he was a silent breath of fresh air, always there to sweep, never there to sleep, just a laid back fellow with a life. Also there was Amina, her loud and honest laugh, and of course Stach, working from 6 to 6 and still cheerful to share some time.
Roommates are a lot like siblings, they were there from before you came or they just appeared out of nowhere with the firm intention to stay. Good ones are those who live and let you live, those who master the art of casual talk, those who join the table and share the bread, those whose presence can turn a shared apatament into a home to which you feel like getting back.
