'Ottepooraadam' my mother would call me in Malayalam. Meaning being, raised a single child had made me impossible to live with - her former take on my roommate troubles.

I then told her how you had not emptied the trash in 10 days, and I came back from vacation to a dustbin swarming with maggots. 

She got it.

But you, my filthy, pathetic roommate, you did not. 

I own that shit! I bought it with my money. To eat when I'm hungry. Fate will someday make you pay for the nights I spent screaming into my pillow because the food I bought wasn't there when I wanted it. And the Fates are never kind.

Source: Giphy

And honestly, you changed my persepective on things. Before I met you, bathrooms were places of cleanliness. But with you, it became a steaming, festering hell-hole of filth!

You human pile of shit. You left your stinking clothes in the bathroom, your dirty dishes graced the kitchen for days, you left unwashed underwear in bathroom corners, and when you chose to wash them - it was in the mug we all used for bathing! Does nothing disgust you?

Source: Rebloggy

And just when I thought late night hunger pangs and dirty washrooms were the end of it, I found used sanitary napkins and condoms on a shelf! Used napkins and condoms! Saved up. On a shelf. Why? No seriously, why? What further use would you have of that?

That day, you had surpassed all levels of disgusting. Come to think of it, you outdid yourself! I'm sure the devil guards a place for you in hell.

I understand the unbearable pangs of hunger you might have felt after sex. But how bad did it get that you finished the food I had stocked up in cupboards? All this after I'd already done you the favour of lending you a room for sex!

Boundaries, dude! Buy food for yourself and your insatiable sex god. I just loaned you the bed, that's a favour enough. Why am I even explaining this?

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And then there's the money. In the beginning of the month, I'd be doing pretty well for myself. Fast forward a week (a bloody week!) and I'm broke. Was it because I splurged on myself? Nope It was because for some reason, I found myself running personal Bed & Breakfast for you, my dear roommate. Here's a hint, pay the damn bills once in a while.

Luxuries can wait, not unpaid bills. The absolute confidence with which you incurred debts will always be something I aspire to. 

Or not.

What's yours, is yours. But for some reason, what's mine, was public property. It's gotten so bad, I think twice before even lending people a pencil. You've scarred me, for life!

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There's a pair of earrings I see you flaunting on Instagram still, they're mine. Also, you wash the clothes someone lends you to dance the night away. It's etiquette. I wish I could ask you to look it up without being absolutely sure it's pointless.

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Basically, you made my life hell. The house would always stink, the bathroom was always a rainforest, and don't even get me started on how your shit just wouldn't stay in the confines of your room. And mine's not the only horror story out there.

Like this friend who's roommate shot herself in the leg, she was a national level gun woman. Not kidding. Then there's the person who would jerk off on his upper bunk while people slept on the lower one. There are also those who kept voodoo dolls in their cupboard. I definitely went through shit, but then it's been a lot major than that.

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But you, how can you totally obliterate the fact that you share a living space with people? Why does the cost of your flight to freedom have to be painful for the people coexisting with you? How does basic, absolutely basic courtesy bounce off your entire being? You're a horrible, filthy waste of human space and karma is an absolute bitch.

I don't believe in karma. But someday, everything you did will crash down on you all at once. And I really wish I'm there to watch.

Let the world know that your roommate ain't easy to be with. This mat is the best way to warn people!

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