The Apartment Mahin Rahaman

Thank goodness apartments don’t have emotions. If my one bedroom apartment did, I can guarantee that its paint would be chipping off as rapidly as the layers of my sanity. Every morning, I'd wake up to the sound of my alarm clock simultaneously ringing with the gruesome screams of my four year old cousin. I’d race to the bathroom, only to find out that I had to wait in line behind my other cousin. Attempting to save time, I’d make my way to the kitchen and fix myself breakfast while I waited for my turn. I'd get out my favorite box of cereal just to find out that my other cousin (yes, a third cousin) had finished all the milk. By then, I’d be running late for school, so I’d quickly brush my teeth in the kitchen sink and run out the door hoping to catch the train on time.

In the beginning of freshman year, my parents announced that some of my relatives were going to move into our one bedroom apartment. Initially, I felt a jolt of excitement because I hadn't seen my relatives in six years. Afterwards, it hit me that their family consisted of five people and that my family consisted of three people. Despite my not-so-great math skills, I could already begin to tell that these numbers weren’t going to work out. The apartment walls...