My first semester living on my own off-campus was an unforgettable adventure. During the search for housing, I wasn’t too picky because I was aware it was only going to be for a semester, and like most things my mindset was “what’s the worst thing that can happen”.
I moved to a not so desirable neighborhood. If you walk a few blocks forward you were by Johns Hopkins University, but if you walk a few blocks back, you were in the hood. My street was filled with vacant and boarded up homes, but I saw the potential of the neighborhood.
My housemates, definitely added to the adventure of my already exciting setting. It was a four-level home with about 6 bedrooms, and I had about 8 housemates. In the basement lived a couple with a giant mean dog! The woman was in her late 40s, while the man was about 25 years old, and they argued every day all day! Upstairs initially seemed a little calmer, but I soon met the rest of my housemates. A young pregnant woman and her mother lived in one room. They had a revolving door of drama, disrespectful house guest, and sticky fingers. Next door to them was an aspiring boxer, who owned these 2 kittens, who I absolutely fell in love with. He was always nice and respectful; plus pretty much let me play with the cats whenever I wanted. The room directly below me, that was my favorite housemate, and we actually became good friends. He was the landlord’s son and was a recent grad. We both shared an amazing sense of style and had the same mindset when it came to life.
As for me, I lived on the very top floor and considered myself a princess trapped amongst the ratchets. For the most part, I barely interacted with my houseguest, because I was always either on-campus or just stayed up in my room. I would hear all the chaos going on below me and knew to just mind my business. Even though I would never put myself in that situation again, I do have a lot of fond memories.