Roommate Schroommate

I constantly find myself reminding myself – through my teeth – that living with the girl who is my roommate here in Delhi is worth the $5,000 scholarship I got.  Barely.

The house is big, and we rarely see each other but when we do, I want to shoot myself.  She’s very nice and friendly, but I just cannot stand her and the friendlier she is to me and the enthusiasm with which she talks to me about things just makes me more and more irritated and less and less interested in talking to her.  There are some personalities with which I just cannot mix.

She has habits that irritate me.  For one, I buy my own produce here.  I buy bananas every week for shakes and my oatmeal, and I buy at least 2kgs of apples a week for snacks, oatmeal, and shakes.  She eats them.  Today, she reached for my last apple and made a comment about how big the apple was, so I said “Yeah I know, when I bought them I wanted the small ones but he only had those, so I just bought them” and she said, “Yeah I like the smaller ones more.  This one is so big…I only want half.  I just need to force myself to eat the rest of it I guess” and I just sat there thinking, “Okay Jacie well your plan totally back fired and she either doesn’t care that you bought those apples or she has selective hearing.”  That was my last apple and now I don’t have any for my post-gym shake tomorrow or for my morning oatmeal.  I’ve seen her buy produce twice, but even then she’ll only buy a small bunch of bananas or two to three apples for herself.  My friend told me to just hide the produce in my closet.  I’m considering it.

I’m also very protective of my pens (like, irrationally so).  I was doing homework in the living room on our floor and laid my pen down next to my notebooks.  When I came back from dinner, I found my highlighter but not my pen.  I moved everything on the table looking for it and I looked under the table as well.  My roommate looked at me and saw me looking for something, and I glanced at her and noticed she had my pen.  Being Asian and stereotypically soft-spoken, I did not say anything about it.  “Maybe you’re just assuming it’s your pen,” I thought.  This morning when I went back outside, I found that my pen was indeed with her things on the table.  This upset me more because I label all of my pens.  That particular pen had my middle name in it in kanji, and I know she does not know kanji and knew that it was not her pen.  It bothers me because I do not touch or use peoples’ things without their permission, so it bothers me when people use my things.  Especially someone I can already barely stand.

She also doesn’t flush the toilet (“If it’s yellow, let it mellow”).  And she also frequently forgets to turn the water heater off so when it’s my turn to take a shower, there is barely any hot water.

I go home in less than a month now, and I will be glad to never see her again.

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