I’m starting my fifth year of study and she’s come here to start art school. She’s come straight from Athens to Rotterdam and marvels at the city she’s long dreamed of. She’s currently painting a mural in her room. To the right of her door, a snake crawls through the branches of a bare tree. The snake has high cheekbones, full lips with a sharp cupid’s bow, and large eyes with lashes that fan out beyond her head and over the wall. To the right of this mural is a ballet scene with swans on a lake. She has no furniture yet.
When I came to Rotterdam three-and-a-half years ago, I thought I was alone. I found it difficult to be responsible for my own comfort. My first housemate took me under her wing. As early as in my first week, she led me through Rotterdam-West, past places where she felt at home, such as the Kino cinema and the outdoor cafés along Nieuwe Binnenweg. The only smell I can remember from that house is that of sesame oil. I still talk to my first housemate a lot, even though she now lives in Brussels.
On her first weekend, I took my new flatmate out and showed her the places I love. I can learn from her make-up. She likes a clear lip liner and gloss, while I prefer to blur my lipstick. We both wore heels and danced in them for a long time.
Yesterday, she gave me a painting. It’s a heart-shaped canvas with a tiger cub without enlarged lips and eyes. Only when I inhale deeply do I still smell something. I’m almost used to her scent, which blends with my scent: our aroma.
