I walked into my room and meekly called, “Roomies?” I checked my two roommates' individual rooms to find no one there. As I walked into the living room and stared at an empty room, I texted our group message to ask where they had wandered off to. They were in another one of our friend’s room. I stepped into her room, saw their faces, sat down, and burst into tears while hysterically saying, “I hate this school; I want to go home.”
After one of my roommates asked me where I was when she was bawling 10 minutes ago, I cried more and ate some Fun Dip. We walked back to our room and sat in our living room as one roommate decorated our living room to get her anger out and my other roommate and I laid on the couch and discussed our lives.
Your roommates are your sisters away from home.
“Roomies help roomies” is a commonly used phrase among my roommates and me. They are the people that you call when you’re sick at a party. They are the people who you lose when you’re out and proceed to call them because you need to know their whereabouts ASAP. They are the people that you call when you need to lay and watch Netflix. They are the people that you call when you want to get food. They are the people that you call when you need to study.
Your roommates are the people that give you medicine when you’re sick and force you to go to the doctor when you aren’t getting better. They are there to force you to get off the couch and have fun or sit with you on a Friday night because you’re going through a rough patch. They are there to listen to you cry and hug you until you stop hyperventilating. They are there to laugh with you until you cry.
Your roommates are your family.
One of my roommates and I were laying in my other roommate's bed eating Lunchables, which somewhat dramatically led to a screaming match with all three of us. I have screaming matches with my sisters and very few other people. As I laid there during this screaming match and over the course of the following week, it became clear: We have screaming matches because we are actually siblings.
It is just a fact. We may fight about the most trivial things in the world. “Who didn’t take out the trash?" "I’m not buying this again, I bought it last time!" "You guys ditched me last night!" "You couldn’t make this place any dirtier if you tried!” The list continues. However, at the end of the day, we all have each other’s backs. We will threaten to ruin anyone’s life who hurts our roommate. We are there to bash the guy who broke their hearts and then attempt to give them constructive advice on where to go from here. We are there to tell you when you deserve better in a person, whether it be a friend or a boy. We will defend you until the death.
There is nothing better than being able to call your living quarters at college a “home” with “family.” There is no better feeling than knowing if I were to come home crying, my roommates would be there in a second. I vent to them like sisters. I bicker with them like sisters. We laugh our asses off like sisters and best friends.
You can tell your roommates anything and trust that it won’t be repeated. You can collectively cry over the fact that your school sucks sometimes and college is really freaking hard. You can also rant about how much you love your school in all of its quirkiness.
My one roommate has no sisters. As she let out her stress while she decorated our room the night, we all cried to each other and my other roommate and I laid on the couch attempting to help her make the room look presentable. There was a venting session in full swing until my sister-less roommate stopped what she was doing and said the most valid statement of the entire night. She looked at us and said, “Y’all are my sisters.”
Y’all are my sisters, you guys are my sisters—it doesn’t really matter how you say it, just know that I love you forever and ever.
