walked into the room, introduced myself, but she immediately looked at me with disgust. It unsettled me because I knew I would be living there for the next four years. I wanted to be on good terms with everyone, especially my bunkmate. Instead, she seemed repulsed by the mere sight of me, and that worried me deeply. She was a third-year student and one of the most beautiful girls on campus. She was always impeccably dressed, effortlessly elegant, and carried herself with femininity wherever she went. I admired her from a distance while i was in the temporal accommodation but as reality dawned on me that we would share a room together long term, I accepted that she didn’t like me or want anything to do with me, so I kept my distance.
It was my first year of university, and I was placed in a room with three other ladies, making us four altogether. The room had two bunk beds, so it was typical for you to be paired with someone to share a bunk. My own bunkmate never liked me. Her hostility kept me on edge because I was constantly asking myself, Where did I go wrong? How did I offend her? Did I do something? But we had only just met. There was no way I could have done anything to earn a place on her bad side. Those were my thoughts about my bunkmate and i.
We kept at it for a while until one faithful day when a roommate asked me out of the blue, “When’s your birthday?” We were getting to know each other better, so I answered casually. The moment I told her my date of birth, my bunkmate got up from the chair and looked at me strangely. “Are you sure that’s your birthday?” she asked. “Because that’s my birthday too.” She genuinely thought I was trying to pull a prank on everyone or claim her birthday as mine. Considering how much she already disliked me, she was ready to pick a fight over the fact that we happened to share the same birthday. After asking more than once if I was certain of what i just said, she smiled and said, “Then we’re birthday mates. I was born on the same day and month.” That unexpected coincidence became the first crack in the wall between us. I could tell from the look on her face that the hostility had begun to fade, and from that day on, our relationship became much more manageable.
One sunny afternoon, after I returned from lectures, this same lady called me over, asked me to sit down, and said, “Do you know why I don’t like you?” “No,” I replied. “I don’t like you because you don’t know how to dress.” Those were her exact words. My face dropped. Instead of getting defensive, I found myself pouring my heart out, almost as though I had been waiting my whole life for someone to comment on my appearance.