Breakfast in a Student Apartment

A student-apartment breakfast sounds much better when somebody else describes it.

One sesame bagel.

One bagel with cheese.

Cherry tomatoes.

Roasted peppers.

Tea.

It sounds almost civilized.

Maybe even healthy.

The problem is that this has very little to do with an actual student apartment.

Cherry tomatoes?

Roasted peppers?

Let’s not get carried away.

Student apartments have their own rules.

You do not always eat what you like.

Sometimes you learn to like what happens to be left in the refrigerator.

That is how I learned to drink mineral water.

When I was younger, I had tried it a few times.

I hated it.

One sip was usually enough.

I could not understand why anybody would voluntarily drink something that tasted like that.

Then university life happened.

Friends would come over to drink.

They knew I did not like mineral water, which of course meant they had the perfect excuse to bring some.

“We thought you wouldn’t have any at home.”

They were right.

I didn’t.

For a long time those bottles simply waited in the refrigerator.

Then one day I opened the fridge and discovered a small disaster.

No water.

No cola.

No milk.

Nothing useful to drink.

Milk was almost theoretical by that point anyway.

I opened the refrigerator again.

Two bottles of mineral water.

Beypazarı.

I closed the door.

A few seconds later I opened it again.

Still there.

Apparently nothing better had appeared while the door was closed.

Eventually I took one.

Opened it.

Drank a little.

And then something unexpected happened.

I thought:

Why don’t I drink this?

There was no great revelation.

No dramatic music.

I had simply reached the point where thirst was stronger than prejudice.

After that, I started buying mineral water myself.

Not one bottle at a time either.

Six-packs.

That is one of the strange things about student life.

You begin with certain habits.

Certain foods you like.

Certain things you refuse to eat or drink.

Then the apartment slowly educates you.

Not through wisdom.

Through absence.

If something is not in the kitchen, you cannot have it.

If nobody went shopping, dinner becomes whatever can be assembled from what remains.

If there is nothing to drink except something you once hated, suddenly that thing deserves another chance.

A student apartment can therefore introduce you to new habits.

Some good.

Some questionable.

Some that remain for years.

But let us be clear.

Cherry tomatoes and roasted peppers are probably not among them.

The romantic version of student life is always nicer than the real one.

Years later, people remember university apartments as places full of friends, long conversations, music, freedom, late-night meals and unforgettable memories.

All of that may be true.

But memory quietly removes some details.

The empty refrigerator.

The dishes nobody wants to wash.

The mystery container that has been sitting on a shelf for far too long.

The moment when you realize that going to the market requires more energy than simply eating whatever is left.

And the strange discovery that something you used to hate has somehow become part of your life.

Maybe that is why those years remain memorable.

You learn things without planning to learn them.

You discover music because a friend copies a folder to your computer.

You learn to cook because nobody else will.

You learn which problems can wait until tomorrow.

You learn how long a refrigerator can remain almost empty while still technically containing food.

And sometimes you learn to drink mineral water.

Not because someone convinced you.

Because there was nothing else.

That is student life.

It can create habits.

Just do not expect those habits to involve cherry tomatoes and roasted peppers.