Dear new apartment,
Please be nice to me.
I’m new in town, you see, and feeling a tad bit vulnerable. I have all my old stuff, but I’m in this new place and I don’t know many new people yet. And well… I’m just hoping you’ll be a good spot for me. You’ve got these nice shiny floors and a nice shiny fridge and I trudged in here without so much as a “Hey, how’s it going?” before plopping all my earthly possessions on the floor and sticking nails in your walls.
Despite that somewhat rude beginning, I’d say things are fairly peaceable so far, these two short weeks. Sure, your bathroom door takes some muscle to close and the AC at night sounds like a garage door continuously trying to open… but I shouldn’t complain. We’re just getting to know each other after all—I hope the new friends I make grow to love my quirks, so why can’t I do the same for yours? I’m sure you’ll grow to love the way I talk to myself when no one’s around and I’ll grow to love the mysterious hole in the wall under the sink. You’ll become fond of the piles of miscellaneous paper I leave scattered about and I’ll become fond of the corner of the oven door that scrapes off a little paint every time I close it.
Okay, maybe it’s best not to dwell on your quirks quite yet—we’re not there and that’s just fine.
Once I grow enough muscle memory to stop bumping into your corners and finally learn where we put the big spoons (which is totally on us residents by the way, I definitely can’t leave that at your door), I’m sure that living here will become smooth sailing. This will stop feeling like a brand new place and instead be a place where I recover from the new or weird or tiring things in the rest of the world.
I have high hopes for this arc of my life but I also anticipate many moments of insecurity and doubt while I’m figuring out where I want to fit.
So, please be nice to me. Please be patient. I promise to try not to compare you to my previous homes too much (no matter how much I miss their easy parking and being-an-entire-house-ness). I promise to try to not let you smell bad. I promise to try to make you look nice and to eat good food and host kind people here. I promise to try to leave room on the walls and shelves for new things, even if that means leaving some old things in my closet (or in my parents’ basement, thank you parents).
I’m going to spend a lot of time here, apartment. I hope that before long we look forward to seeing each other after a long day. I hope we take good care of each other. I hope I don’t let you get infested with mice.
I hope you’re nice to me.
Christina Ribbens (’19) graduated with a major in history and minors in studio art and data science. After working in campus ministry for a few years, she’s getting her master’s in public humanities at Georgetown University in Washington, DC. She has a benevolent dependency on tea, is always down for a game of pick-up basketball, and would love to have you over for pancakes sometime.
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I love this so much! Hugs, Christina! Mrs. B.
Thanks thanks!