One day in the middle of spring 2019 I take a bus to Kelowna to view three rooms and choose one of them for rent for next year. It is warm in the bus, but instead of taking off my coat and reading a book, I close my eyes and allow the heat to take over me. I fall asleep. Midway to the first apartment on my list, I open my eyes and see how a middle-aged man gets on the bus. He looks like a traveler in his sleeveless dusty shirt and with a big black backpack.

The man sits opposite me and starts to inspect fellow passengers; his eyes roaming in search of eye contact. It irritates me because I generally avoid eye contact with unfamiliar people to the extent that often I might not even know how those around me look like. So, I close my eyes again and try to resume my nap. Meanwhile, the man initiates conversations with his neighbors in a loud and confident voice: “It’d be nice to travel on the roof, hey?” “Shall we open the window?” “It’s so hot!” Perhaps, I belong to the type of people who prefer minimum changes in their minimal circle of social interactions. 

Eventually I get off the bus and hurry through a quiet neighborhood to a large house owned by Nelly and her husband. As far as I know, there are several types of landlords who rent their private property:

• Politely distant.
• These are usually either landlords who are very busy or who lend apartments for the purpose of earning money.
• These are subdivided into extremely helpful and extremely controlling.

The politely distant landlords are usually those who carefully pick their tenants, verifying that the tenants would be a good match for other inhabitants of the house. These landlords establish friendly but superficial relationships with tenants. They do not engage in common activities with people who rent their accommodation.

Indifferent landlords are peculiar for their lack of care about personalities of tenants. They are ready to rent the accommodation to almost anybody as long as they are capable of paying. Usually such landlords are either entirely devoted to work or are unwilling to transform entirely capitalist relationships into those of a warm friendship.

Perhaps, the most contradictory category of landlords is invested ones. Being impassionate people, extremely helpful landlords might include their tenants into their close friend circle and offer as much help to them as possible even beyond the contract. Extremely controlling invested landlords might be strict with rules, generating revulsion in tenants. This latter subcategory is quite rare because after all the housing market is competitive.

Nelly who belongs to the category of politely distant landlords greeted me with a smile and reached out to shake my hand. It turned out that her house had rooms for 10 people. I examined the rooms, noticing signs of old age, such as cracks on walls and floors, peering from beneath the personal belongings of inhabitants. Antique style wall lights and chandeliers, fireplace in the living room surrounded by soft armchairs – everything made me feel accepted into an elite circle where everyone acts with polite manners, preserving the façade of decency not really caring about each other’s feelings and personalities. Then I noticed that there were no tables in rooms. Such configuration obliges tenants to share common areas for work and study.

I recalled the moments of small talk that always make me feel uncomfortable. Somebody asks me “how are you?” and I freeze for several seconds in confused silence, while the interlocutor walks away. Somebody asks me “how are your studies going?”, and I start telling about my struggles and interests only to notice that the person is bored and is waiting for their turn to speak. I imagine myself on one Sunday morning far in the future in this house furnished in antique style. I am sitting at the common table in the kitchen. A neighbor approaches me and asks: “How are you?” and I feel despair, while reflecting on the fact that we shared the house for five months, and still I have no idea about how to answer the question without detecting the interlocutor’s longing to talk about themselves through the thrashing of their eyes, rapid breathing, and half-opened lips.

Meanwhile Nelly asks me:

“Tell me a little about yourself. What are your interests?”

I look at the woman suspiciously. Again, I’ve to pretend, to make an effort and seem to be better than I am. Again, I have to find weasel words, walk through the conversation with carefulness of a sapper detecting mines that might destroy my image…

“Well, I love reading books and writing stories,” I say, trying to decipher the woman’s reaction. Her face does not change its calm expression of relaxed eyebrows, pale cheeks and lips closed without tightness.

“Okay,” she says, “do you have any questions for me then?”

I feel disappointed as I always do when I share personal information about myself and people do not react. I recall a painful situation. One girl whom I had not met for several months, asked me to tell about my life. It was an uncomfortable moment for a deep conversation. We both seemed to be in a hurry: she was with a group of friends, and I was walking to a class. Nevertheless, I started telling her about all major events that happened in my life. Midway through my monologue I noticed that the girls’ eyes were staring somewhere above my head and the fingers of her right hand were fidgeting the bracelet on the wrist of her left hand. I realized that I lost her attention. Suddenly, one of my classmates approached me and I turned away to greet her. When I looked back to find my interlocutor, she was gone.

As I start asking Nelly questions about the terms of the rent, I keep thinking: She could at least ask what my favorite book is and what kind of stories I write… In the end of the showing that lasts around 45 minutes, the landlord reassures me that I am a suitable candidate because I am a quiet person, not a party-goer. As I walk back to the bus station to go to the next room, I stare at the world around me, struck by its complexity. So many people live in these houses, and I don’t know anything about them. What a shame!

At my next destination I meet Jessica, a young friendly woman who belongs to the category of indifferent landlords who lease their property for the sake of earning money. She leads me into a small house intended for four people, shows me a tiny kitchen and a tiny room. Jessica does not ask any questions about my personality. Having inferred something about me, she says: “Your neighbors are all employed adults. You won’t see them most of the time: they go to work early and come back late.” The tour lasts for about 20 minutes. In the end Jessica expresses hope to see me again.

I head towards my last destination. The showing is scheduled for 4 p.m. and it is still 2 p.m. I decide to spend time in a café. While I order latte and wait for it in the queue, I feel sad that most interactions with others – greetings and friendliness – depend on the value of money. I take a seat opposite a window and stare at the street, while thoughts are roaming in my head like homeless cows. Most of the time I feel comfortable with this distance from others. However, on some occasions it becomes so unbearable that I want to crash things and cry. Probably, it is the delirium of a hot spring day, but it seems to me that a procession appears on the road. They are carrying a coffin covered with banknotes… I shudder and the illusion disappears.

The next landlord’s name is Lorenzo and he is an invested extremely helpful one. He is clearly Italian. Not only his name, but also the dark brown eyes, black hair and beard, active gesticulation and active changing of facial expressions, indicate his culture. While showing me the house, Lorenzo asks me many questions about my biography and shows interest in my answers: “Where are you from?” “Why did you decide to come to Kelowna?” “What are you studying?” With the loud knocks on the doors of the rooms Lorenzo informs his tenants about my arrival.

One of them, an Indian, comes out, greats us and offers a treat. We talk about our home countries, and the conversation leaves me with positive feelings. I soon realize that I do not care so much about the rooms in the house, but I am rather interested in talking to these friendly people and knowing them better. Then Lorenzo shows me the room that might potentially become mine.

There he tells me: “I’m looking for someone who will rent the room for a long time. I’ve wife and kids, and I don’t want to turn this into Airbnb. I don’t want people to come and go all the time. I’m very open for discussions because I create a family here. I don’t want to turn this house into a business. I’m focused on building long term relationships.”

I nod, feeling myself like a fish taken out of water. A battle is happening between my brain and heart. You don’t belong here. How do you imagine yourself building a family with strangers? My rationality is warning me. If I was an ideal version of myself who is capable of constructing friendship this house would be perfect for me! A dreamer inside me responds. Meanwhile, Lorenzo leads me outside of the house and asks: “Would you like to plant a garden with us?” I reply with an enthusiastic smile: “Yes, of course!”

When it is time for as to say “goodbye”, one more tenant, an international student, approaches us. He asks Lorenzo for advice about his car, and Lorenzo starts giving extensive recommendations about how to repair the engine. I listen and marvel at how incredible their relationship is. Then I recall times when I used to listen to others for hours, sometimes, not saying a single word, and my heart falls into my feet. I’m a good listener, but nothing more than that. Do I want to spend all year listening to others with an artificial smile when initial interest will have evaporated? I am not that kind of person who can build relationships with people in which both sides are satisfied. I’ll never be able to perceive my neighbors as a part of my family. These are not my values, not my modes of behavior.

On the way back to campus I face the necessity of making the choice. What would I prefer? Should I decide to live in Nelly’s house where there is no escape from eyes of others and where I will always have to be self-conscious? Should I decide to live in Jessica’s house and sign the contract dried from personal feelings? Should I become a member of Lorenzo’s community and plant the garden besides the house together with him and other inhabitants? As the bus is proceeding, I start to doubt the whole typology, as well as Lorenzo’s sincerity. It is impossible to categorize people and discern people’s values from their discourse. Who knows? A bureaucrat might one day act out of compassion, and the friendliest person might justify their behavior with pragmatic motives. I raise my eyes, look at the passengers who are surrounding me. I come to the conclusion that people are controversial and unpredictable. I can not be confident even about myself: perhaps, one day I will make eye contact with a stranger and initiate a conversation?