I want to kill my neighbor

I want to kill my neighbor. Now you’re probably wondering which one of my neighbors, and that’s a very good question that I have no answer to. It’s really hard to choose between the psychopath from the other side of the wall, the unbearable old guy from above with his loud machines that provoke an earthquake every morning in my apartment or maybe the pain in the ass old lady that smokes towards the patio all day long and that the only time we’ve had a conversation it was because she claimed that I used her ropes to hang my laundry (which I did).

Who would you pick? But now trying to make it more interesting, what are the odds that I have bad relationships with three out of my three neighbors? What is my part in these bad relationships? And most importantly whose fault is it? Let’s try to answer these questions!

I would definitely pick the psychopath from next door because the other two are old enough anyway so I would rather let mother nature get her job done naturally. And now to the harder questions because when looking at the odds for having bad neighbors it seems rather rare to dislike all your neighbors and I think that the conclusion (beside bad luck) is that it cannot be a coincidence and there must be a reasonable explanation for that.

Well, since I’m a very introspective person and I recognize my own faults (like the day I used my neighbor’s rope or the day I played the piano at midnight) I want to start by asking myself if it isn’t just me being a bad neighbor and them hating even more than I hate them. On my defense I have to say that when I moved to the building I had only good intentions and I even tried to make friends with the nazi next-door, but he was such an unpleasant companion that it was hopeless. At the end of the day, I’m a good guy. I know that, and I know that whenever a neighbor would ask me to do something for him I would do it, but they have never asked me for anything nicely.

They only came to talk to me (sometimes they just banged on the wall) when they tried to teach me a lesson, when they wanted to scold me, and now I realize how much it saddens me. Jumping to the last and most important question, because I don’t think the other paragraph contain any interesting insights worth of sharing. Whose fault is it? Since it’s definitely not my fault and I tend to defend my neighbors, because I honestly don’t think that they are bad people, but I do think that urban life made them antipathic beings and I will explain that. I grew up in a small village where I knew everyone, and everyone knew me.

It had many nice affects, but it also had some disadvantages like lack of privacy, but I think that privacy is overrated and that human beings are supposed to be together and have some community life in order to have a more pleasant journey on earth. Aristotle said that “without friends, no one would want to live, even if he had al other goods”, and I do trust Aristotle for dedicating enough time to this question before coming up with this univocal conclusion. You may want to say, “but who said your neighbors must be your friends?”

, and again you’re right, because you have very clever questions, but I’m not talking about really becoming friend with them, I would be happy with at least knowing their name and have a two minutes conversation with them once every two month, and I’m convinced that it would change everything, because knowing someone makes it much harder to hate him (not in all cases of course), and knowing that this someone you just talked to cannot sleep well for the last year because of the weird machine you’re using every morning is just something that has to affect you in some way.

I sometimes think, if the only knew who I am… They wouldn’t dare being so apathic. They would want to know how my day was when they see that I’m sad and I would do the same. I would ask the nazi bully if he’s having a hard time at work and if this is why he’s swearing all day long. I would ask the old lady if she feels alone, all by herself, and ask her about her daughters that barely visit her. I would ask the neighbor from above what type of machine is he using, and probably he’ll reply that his life depends on using it daily.

But nothing of it has happened, and it will never happen, because urban society creates walls between us, and we don’t care about each other that much anymore like in the days that there was only one bathroom for the entire building. And though I really like having my own toilet, I would rather share than feeling this constant alienation that dishearten me so much. I wouldn’t kill any of them, I guess I’ll just get used to this ill-natured planet. And till I’ll tell you about what happened with another neighbor or with the couple that live three doors away! But it can wait for another moment, one step at a time.