Moving In

Living with the person you love may be one of the strangest experiences of adult life. It is an attempt to capture a romance that has been created through outside dates and glimpses of intimacy. But moving in together is a commitment of authenticity. It’s an attempt to merge a hidden version of yourself to their own. Where privacy is shed to reveal our lonely, ugly, crusty selves. Our grumpy morning face, our guilty indulgences on cookies and TV. Strange superstitions, habits and necessities insert themselves as daily occurrences into the soft cushion of love.

These irritating habits can accumulate conflict, snagging one’s bond into shreds. One Singaporean ex of mine could never sleep before 4am, and in his tiny apartment, I had nowhere to hide from his nightly gaming sessions. I insisted it was ridiculous, he insisted it was necessary for him to “relax”. Who was right? Who had to compromise? Below these small disagreements are values which we refuse to let go of, because we are convinced our way of living is better.

While there is a distinct boundary around roommates, this disappears with your lover. You actively seek to merge your two selves; the relationship one and the shadowed one, through every possible level of intimacy. While done with good intentions, once we see every part of our favorite person laid out next to us, we become controlling. They should clean like this, they should have this habit like I do, they should -

And suddenly you’re arguing over dishes. Because I expect you to do exactly like I do. Why can’t you be like me? Why are you in my space? Why must you annoy me so?

When I lived with my Japanese boyfriend, I learned that cleanliness expressed more than hygiene. Although his boyish apartment (a small studio in the middle of Tokyo) was clattered with junk, he insisted on a spotless physique. Every night clothes were tossed into the washer, and showers were a daily, rigorous ritual of purification.

If I didn’t want to wash my hair that day, he’d look upon me with disdain, as though all my alienness suddenly became riddled with festering sores. It seemed strange to argue over a simple shower, but every time he’d insist, under the streaming water I felt as though he were doing his best to scrub away my foreignness. It was a strange expression of domination; he was convinced his way was right, and that my strange practices were wrong. I had to be purged from my Western ways.

I was too French and American to be submissive to a man’s imperialist whims, so I revolted, and freed myself from a relationship where compromise and respect weren’t offered.

Chores, cooking and cleaning, these daily upkeeps of the house all boil down to some form of negotiation. When you’re alone, you can only expect actions from yourself, but with someone else around, you expect their efforts to be shown as well. The beauty from this interaction is, hopefully, that you learn to appreciate differences in upbringing that give you a window into the variety of life. One cannot always nag and one cannot always ignore - as adults, it is our duty to be patient, understanding, and have the tools needed to compromise, communicate, and negotiate with care.

Committing to living together means creating a new culture together. It is one inspired by the family you grew up watching, shaped by a new space, fueled by your relationship dynamics and evolves with your lifestyles.