The Lesson of Apartment 402
My front door has a gaping hole in the middle of it, right underneath the “402” label.
I stand outside with my three suitcases, sleep-deprived from my 12-hour journey from London. I am arriving for the first time, and about to move in with my four roommates: Teddy, Matthew, Mahdi, and Yoni. The door opens, and Teddy peaks his head around the corner, “Welcome back,” he said with a grin. It was time to move in.
I walk into the living room, my shoes sticking to the ground with every step. It smells like cat litter, weed and stale beer. I plop down on a filthy sofa and ask Teddy, “How was the party?” He laughs, “Bro, you should have seen how many people were here.”
I had taken fall term off, so inevitably had missed a lot. When I arrived winter term, I quite immediately noticed a unique social ecosystem existing in my apartment. Our guests had such high levels of racial diversity that I was tempted to call the person in charge of making our university pamphlets to come over and take a picture. We had a global stew brewing! To put an image in place: I am now friends with individuals from Peru, the UK, Uganda, Russia, and Egypt.
We had a regular parade of people walking through our apartment, with at least 10 per day coming over to hang out. I had never experienced such a condensed microcosm of the world before, let alone in my very own living room. But why us? Why us, and say, not our neighbors? What did my roommates do that made our place so special? I ask Teddy on what his opinion is, and he answered immediately: “We [the residents of 402] are super diverse, so it makes sense that we attract other diverse people. Like attracts like.”
His theory is confirmed by a study conducted by researchers from Wellesley College and the University of Kansas. My roommates and I are all exceptionally diverse. Teddy (birth-name: Mladen) is Croatian, Matt is Jamaican, Mahdi is Haitian, Yoni is Ethiopian, and I, Rajan, am half Indian, a quarter Japanese, and a quarter German. So, it makes sense that our friends will also be exceptionally diverse. Our personalities have been forged in different corners of the globe, only to converge in Ann Arbor, Apartment 402. And, regardless of our distinctive origins, we manage to complement each other well. Teddy is our debt collector, ensuring that our rent and internet bills are paid on time. Matt plans our parties, while Mahdi guilts us into being more studious. Meanwhile, Yoni and I switch off between keeping everything clean and taking care of the inebriated.
Yet, in order to get to the bottom of the core issue, “Why us?”, I decided to entertain a wider range of perspectives. I asked Matt for his opinion on my hypothesis first. He answered me in between expletives while hunched over, playing Fortnite on our TV, “None of us are considered the ‘norm’ when it comes to being an American.” I grin with his affirmation; however, noticing a crucial nuance, I ask, “So what you’re saying is that we hang out because we don’t have things in common?” His words imply that our lack of commonality, is our commonality. Matt nods, “We don’t have a normal.”
His words spark up imagery in my head: imagery of refuge. Matt is saying that our place is where outliers go to become inliers. He’s saying we provide a warm cabin on a cold winter night (almost quite literally, especially considering Michigan winters). I ask Matt how he feels about our apartment’s vibe, and he responds with a laugh, “I feel like a philanthropist.” But before I let all of this get to his head, I decide to interview Anjali, one of our frequent visitors. I ask her why she likes our place, and why she keeps coming back. She initially takes it the wrong way, but I clarify, and she responds, laughing over the confusion, “You guys don’t really have any expectations of any of us, other than 1) Bodily fluids belong in the bathroom, and 2) Don’t die.” What she says loosely aligns with what Matt had just said: 402 doesn’t have a normal! I give Matt a reluctant nod; his head expands a few sizes. My roommates have unintentionally done something that is very, very cool: they’ve created a global hub for weary travelers to recharge and to feel at home. Diverse ethnicities and personalities walk through our door because they can be themselves here.
This is no small matter either, statistically speaking. We go to a predominantly white school, in a predominantly white town, in an overwhelmingly white state. It is a given that ethnically diverse peoples are an underrepresented people in the University of Michigan. According to the annual ethnicity report recently released, more than half of the student population is white, with Asian/Hispanic students composing nearly one out of five students. I classify Asian and Hispanic students as relatively represented, considering that multi-ethnic students (like myself), represent less than 2% of the student population. We have provided a place for ethnically underrepresented minorities to congregate. In a sea of otherness, our apartment is a droplet of familiarity.
To tie together what our apartment represents, I decided to get a collective answer from my roommates. They responded with this: if you ever feel like you can’t quite relate, you should know that there are people out there who feel the same. You should know that when you have a chance to convene with them, you ought to. You should know that when you do, you will be on your way to making your own oasis; your own Apartment 402. I just hope the door to your newfound oasis doesn’t have a hole in it.