How to not Find a Flatmate
"Hi, I saw you were interested in finding a roommate this year. Thanks for responding to my post! Perhaps we say a bit about ourselves and what we are looking for?"
Feverish excitement about searching for prospective flatmates and a flat in London lasted a few seconds, panic hit me right after. The only word that came to my head was … "clean". You see, I'd lived with the same flatmates for over two decades. I didn't search for them the first time around, they came with the house. Rather, I came with them. My only flatmates ever had been my parents.
I'd watched friends and family search for and move into homes, flats - all the while dreaming of the day I would get to do that. I had never had to even narrow down an area to search for homes at. All I had to do was pack, show up, and try to make that place my own. My parents had pampered me that way. And it wasn't for lack of intent. Those of you who've known me at any point in my pre-London life probably heaved a sigh of relief because you wouldn't have to hear about how I always wanted to move out and live by myself for a long time.
When I accepted the offer of admission from LSHTM, I was thrilled at the prospect of sharing a tiny, inordinately expensive flat (given London's reputation) with a couple of people, close to the tube of course, within a thirty minute walk to my school, next to the Tuesday farmer's market, and a lively neighborhood pub. Please note random details from a person who had never visited the said city before. The source of inspiration for this vision were TV shows and movies. For all that vision, I drew a complete blank when it came to crafting a message about what I was looking for. And very briefly, the prospect of living in residence halls became even more appealing. It would work in the opposite way, I'd have to tell them what they were looking for (in me) instead. Something I was more used to. Of course, that was plan B.
Plan A was renting a flat. Why? Because I figured at age 25, this was what was expected of me (by me). Maybe I was much too old to be living at a residence hall/hostel. This was a second master's degree after all. I already felt delayed in reaching this particular rite of passage. It was also high time I got the chance to say things like, "we need to call the plumber today'" or "'we need to have a flatmates meeting" or "please fulfill my childhood dream and take a photo of me feeding pigeons like Baoji in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge (DDLJ) at Trafalgar Square" or "please fulfill another childhood dream and do the King's Cross station scene where either of us runs and the other one pulls person inside the train before doors close like in DDLJ". I would grow dhaniya (coriander) because free dhaniya in the free world is a myth. I thought I would finally upgrade my millennial membership status to the first-world, global level by building something from IKEA. For more details on my desire and unending search for home, please read this Lookout Journal article.
***
A few friends of mine had studied in London within a year or two of completing undergraduate studies. They told me that a British residence hall experience would be worth it. That, however, brought back memories of reading Malory Towers. I decided to fill out the forms for University of London halls as backup (Plan B, Part A) and while simultaneously confronting my [pen?] paralysis. I sought wisdom from friends who had lived outside India. I asked them of their experience in dealing with non-desi flatmates and what would be appropriate warning in said message. I was told to mention that cooking Indian food could potentially be smelly. Cognitively, I don't think I processed this but I trusted them.
This gem is what I came up with:
I’m laid back (THOUGH AM I? DEFINITELY NOT WHEN IT COMES TO BEING PUNCTUAL) and like to keep my space tidy and clean (MY MOTHER MAY DISAGREE, ACTUALLY SHE SHOULD, I WOULD TOO). I love to travel, write, photograph, read, listen to music, and spend time with friends (ONLY FULLY ACCURATE SENTENCE). I am also vegetarian (and will be cooking Indian food - which can seem to have an intense smell to those unaccustomed to it (I DECIDED TO GO WITH INTENSE AND UNACCUSTOMED).
I would prefer to stay close to the school - ideally a 20 minute walk or a short tube ride. Will be looking for a single room (ensuite bathroom preferably - but I’m okay to share the bathroom with one other flatmate (BUT REALLY, NO)); not set on number of flatmates (2-3). I’d like to stay with someone who will share responsibilities (I WAS TOLD TO WRITE THIS WITH THE CAVEAT THAT REALITY AND EXPECTATIONS WON'T MATCH), help keep the space clean (REMEMBER THIS WONDER I ORIGINALLY CAME UP WITH), communicate openly (BECAUSE I AM CAPABLE OF SENDING VERBOSE PROOFREAD WHATSAPP COMPOSITIONS) (for instance, checking with each other before having people stay the night). I would also prefer a flatmate who doesn’t smoke (BECAUSE ACCORDING TO THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION, INDIA IS HOME TO 14 OF 20 OF THE WORLD'S MOST POLLUTED CITIES AND I DIDN'T KNOW THEN THAT PEOPLE SMOKE A LOT IN LONDON).
***
Its a mystery why they didn't respond to this incredible piece of writing.
Social anxiety doesn't care for proper sample sizes or sampling techniques. It often reaches conclusions before sampling itself. And so, when I didn't hear back from all of two people that I had chatted with, I concluded that people didn't want to live with me, completely glossing over my experience with human beings in 25 years and some common sense. Plan A went on hiatus. Given all of this, I was overjoyed to receive an offer from my top choice of University halls. This euphoria lasted ten whole minutes! I soon found out that while the room was en suite (WIN!), a minute's walk away from School (i.e. presenting potential to wake up 5 minutes before class), it was also a catered hall with no potential to cook anything but only microwave food. This time, the only word that came to my head was... "spicy". This was non-negotiable; I couldn't not cook and leave my palate to bland British food (please note I had never had British food and also assumed the menu included only British food). I was particularly worried about what may pass as vegetarian food. I was warned that a hot meal in London would be expensive. Also, I thoroughly enjoy and look forward to grocery shopping and have a special superpower of internalizing the store map once I'm there. I activated Plan B Part B.
The minute I received my first University acceptance earlier in the year, I swore to never write a statement of any purpose for the whole year. Instead, Plan B Part B required me to not only write such a statement but also provide a character or personal reference. Supported by friends, I began to search the depths of soul and personality for skills to market which weren't academic. As someone who has spent her life trying to be in the shadows, it was particularly hard to find aspects of my personality that I could sell. I sought out character references.
One of the two halls for postgraduate international students that I applied to brought feelings of trepidation. It was run by a religious charity. It brought back memories of attending a convent school from grades 3 to 12 - even though said hall wasn't catholic. It felt like the first time I'd get to live on my own would be like signing up to live in an Ashram without the morning yagya (but possibly the morning Mother of Carmel prayer and reminders that god had given us yet another day to live). I wasn't looking forward to mental throwbacks of the days where the lengths of my nails and skirt would be checked (or rather, the adult version of what time I return or how many guests I sign in or what time lights are out). In addition to absolutely unfounded apprehensions of propaganda was the prospect of sharing toilets, showers, and a kitchen. A friend of a friend, who later became my close friend, had stayed at this hall for a year. He kept telling me I had nothing to worry about.
Nervous still, I took my chances and was accepted by the charity-run hall and I wasn't Goodenough for the other (you know I had to).
At the time, I had just begun grappling with the challenges involved in showing financial proof and applying for a visa to the UK. I visited my bank in a different city so often, they knew how I liked my tea (but not really, because the real answer is coffee). The prospect of relaunching Plan A felt like an unnecessary challenge. I decided to embrace the hall life and let the flatmate search flat-line after a grand total of two conversations. I was assured multiple times by above-mentioned friend of friend who lived at the hall that it was going to be normal. That it would become home before I knew it. And it actually did.
Feverish excitement about searching for prospective flatmates and a flat in London lasted a few seconds, panic hit me right after. The only word that came to my head was … "clean". You see, I'd lived with the same flatmates for over two decades. I didn't search for them the first time around, they came with the house. Rather, I came with them. My only flatmates ever had been my parents.
I'd watched friends and family search for and move into homes, flats - all the while dreaming of the day I would get to do that. I had never had to even narrow down an area to search for homes at. All I had to do was pack, show up, and try to make that place my own. My parents had pampered me that way. And it wasn't for lack of intent. Those of you who've known me at any point in my pre-London life probably heaved a sigh of relief because you wouldn't have to hear about how I always wanted to move out and live by myself for a long time.
When I accepted the offer of admission from LSHTM, I was thrilled at the prospect of sharing a tiny, inordinately expensive flat (given London's reputation) with a couple of people, close to the tube of course, within a thirty minute walk to my school, next to the Tuesday farmer's market, and a lively neighborhood pub. Please note random details from a person who had never visited the said city before. The source of inspiration for this vision were TV shows and movies. For all that vision, I drew a complete blank when it came to crafting a message about what I was looking for. And very briefly, the prospect of living in residence halls became even more appealing. It would work in the opposite way, I'd have to tell them what they were looking for (in me) instead. Something I was more used to. Of course, that was plan B.
Plan A was renting a flat. Why? Because I figured at age 25, this was what was expected of me (by me). Maybe I was much too old to be living at a residence hall/hostel. This was a second master's degree after all. I already felt delayed in reaching this particular rite of passage. It was also high time I got the chance to say things like, "we need to call the plumber today'" or "'we need to have a flatmates meeting" or "please fulfill my childhood dream and take a photo of me feeding pigeons like Baoji in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge (DDLJ) at Trafalgar Square" or "please fulfill another childhood dream and do the King's Cross station scene where either of us runs and the other one pulls person inside the train before doors close like in DDLJ". I would grow dhaniya (coriander) because free dhaniya in the free world is a myth. I thought I would finally upgrade my millennial membership status to the first-world, global level by building something from IKEA. For more details on my desire and unending search for home, please read this Lookout Journal article.
 |
| Baoji at Trafalgar Square in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge |
***
A few friends of mine had studied in London within a year or two of completing undergraduate studies. They told me that a British residence hall experience would be worth it. That, however, brought back memories of reading Malory Towers. I decided to fill out the forms for University of London halls as backup (Plan B, Part A) and while simultaneously confronting my [pen?] paralysis. I sought wisdom from friends who had lived outside India. I asked them of their experience in dealing with non-desi flatmates and what would be appropriate warning in said message. I was told to mention that cooking Indian food could potentially be smelly. Cognitively, I don't think I processed this but I trusted them.
This gem is what I came up with:
I’m laid back (THOUGH AM I? DEFINITELY NOT WHEN IT COMES TO BEING PUNCTUAL) and like to keep my space tidy and clean (MY MOTHER MAY DISAGREE, ACTUALLY SHE SHOULD, I WOULD TOO). I love to travel, write, photograph, read, listen to music, and spend time with friends (ONLY FULLY ACCURATE SENTENCE). I am also vegetarian (and will be cooking Indian food - which can seem to have an intense smell to those unaccustomed to it (I DECIDED TO GO WITH INTENSE AND UNACCUSTOMED).
I would prefer to stay close to the school - ideally a 20 minute walk or a short tube ride. Will be looking for a single room (ensuite bathroom preferably - but I’m okay to share the bathroom with one other flatmate (BUT REALLY, NO)); not set on number of flatmates (2-3). I’d like to stay with someone who will share responsibilities (I WAS TOLD TO WRITE THIS WITH THE CAVEAT THAT REALITY AND EXPECTATIONS WON'T MATCH), help keep the space clean (REMEMBER THIS WONDER I ORIGINALLY CAME UP WITH), communicate openly (BECAUSE I AM CAPABLE OF SENDING VERBOSE PROOFREAD WHATSAPP COMPOSITIONS) (for instance, checking with each other before having people stay the night). I would also prefer a flatmate who doesn’t smoke (BECAUSE ACCORDING TO THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION, INDIA IS HOME TO 14 OF 20 OF THE WORLD'S MOST POLLUTED CITIES AND I DIDN'T KNOW THEN THAT PEOPLE SMOKE A LOT IN LONDON).
***
Its a mystery why they didn't respond to this incredible piece of writing.
Social anxiety doesn't care for proper sample sizes or sampling techniques. It often reaches conclusions before sampling itself. And so, when I didn't hear back from all of two people that I had chatted with, I concluded that people didn't want to live with me, completely glossing over my experience with human beings in 25 years and some common sense. Plan A went on hiatus. Given all of this, I was overjoyed to receive an offer from my top choice of University halls. This euphoria lasted ten whole minutes! I soon found out that while the room was en suite (WIN!), a minute's walk away from School (i.e. presenting potential to wake up 5 minutes before class), it was also a catered hall with no potential to cook anything but only microwave food. This time, the only word that came to my head was... "spicy". This was non-negotiable; I couldn't not cook and leave my palate to bland British food (please note I had never had British food and also assumed the menu included only British food). I was particularly worried about what may pass as vegetarian food. I was warned that a hot meal in London would be expensive. Also, I thoroughly enjoy and look forward to grocery shopping and have a special superpower of internalizing the store map once I'm there. I activated Plan B Part B.
The minute I received my first University acceptance earlier in the year, I swore to never write a statement of any purpose for the whole year. Instead, Plan B Part B required me to not only write such a statement but also provide a character or personal reference. Supported by friends, I began to search the depths of soul and personality for skills to market which weren't academic. As someone who has spent her life trying to be in the shadows, it was particularly hard to find aspects of my personality that I could sell. I sought out character references.
One of the two halls for postgraduate international students that I applied to brought feelings of trepidation. It was run by a religious charity. It brought back memories of attending a convent school from grades 3 to 12 - even though said hall wasn't catholic. It felt like the first time I'd get to live on my own would be like signing up to live in an Ashram without the morning yagya (but possibly the morning Mother of Carmel prayer and reminders that god had given us yet another day to live). I wasn't looking forward to mental throwbacks of the days where the lengths of my nails and skirt would be checked (or rather, the adult version of what time I return or how many guests I sign in or what time lights are out). In addition to absolutely unfounded apprehensions of propaganda was the prospect of sharing toilets, showers, and a kitchen. A friend of a friend, who later became my close friend, had stayed at this hall for a year. He kept telling me I had nothing to worry about.
Nervous still, I took my chances and was accepted by the charity-run hall and I wasn't Goodenough for the other (you know I had to).
At the time, I had just begun grappling with the challenges involved in showing financial proof and applying for a visa to the UK. I visited my bank in a different city so often, they knew how I liked my tea (but not really, because the real answer is coffee). The prospect of relaunching Plan A felt like an unnecessary challenge. I decided to embrace the hall life and let the flatmate search flat-line after a grand total of two conversations. I was assured multiple times by above-mentioned friend of friend who lived at the hall that it was going to be normal. That it would become home before I knew it. And it actually did.
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