Perspective Meets Apartmental Living

The following is taken from a writing exercise for my journalism class:

Honestly, what similarities can exist between a stereotypical college frat house and a 12th century hospital turned apartment building? In every sense of the expression, the two stand worlds apart. Yet, if I have learned one thing from behind the walls of higher education it is that every reality is governed by one nagging, cliché law, perspective. Somehow and in every way there is always an exception to be voiced by another cultured intellectual with a more diverse background that somehow affords him an infinitely more enlightened vantage point. Reality and only sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And in the case of said frat house vs. the aforementioned ancient apartment my eye revealed just one single commonality, me. A college frat house and an ancient Italian building could not be more different, but they both happen to be a part of my world and thus I am their link. I bridge the gap.
I have never walked up to my fraternity house and at once been halted mid step by what stood before me. But something very similar to this happened the first time I walked up to my apartment building in Viterbo, Italy. Truly, the title apartment building cannot do the structure justice. I suppose in this case words fail. Perhaps something like an ancient castle the likes of which my mind can only attach to images I have seen in Braveheart might be a more accurate description. I just stood there gaping in awe at my new home. Everything was different. As I climbed the worn stone stairs towards my third floor apartment, I felt a peculiar cold wrap itself around me; one unlike any I had ever experienced. It seemed an old cold. As is if it had lived there for a very long time and my body heat disturbed its age old environment. This deep cold had a friend, the dark. I think these too often run hand in hand. This dark was also formed in ages past and now stood guard over the rugged stones and heavy oak doors. I walked with reverence as a stranger and guest in another’s home. Everything seemed odd to me. I stepped through the threshold of my apartment door and looked into a much larger room than my imagination had previously created. Modern art hung on the walls. My fraternity house has not one piece of modern art. Here the art fits though because the ambiance of the place is utilitarian and industrial. Chairs and tables are practical not comfortable. Lamps are cold stainless steal and the floor is hard ceramic. I think the landlord tried to make the room a little more homely by leaving a couple old books on the shelves. I read the titles, “Death of President” and “Spontaneous Healing.” I appreciate the gesture. Thanks but no thanks.
Our bedrooms are very similar to the common room. Tall ceilings, small beds and sensible furniture fill the space. The dark did not follow me into these rooms. Large windows full of light made sure of that. However, the cold was there and still is. We are no longer strangers and I would say much more than acquaintances. Indifferent neighbors that are used to each other’s existence would probably be the most accurate description.
I wish we had a clothes dryer. I am still trying to get used to laundry hanging to dry all across the house. It looks terribly unkempt. I would hang it out the window, but I would have to make my own clothes line and then I have this fear that I would not do it properly and one day I will return to find some but not all of my clothes scattered on the street. People would take the good things like jeans and shorts and leave the rejects like socks and underwear. I think I will learn to accept the hanging laundry in the house.
There is one final difference that never seems to escape me. In fact in follows me everywhere I go, not just my apartment. The voices are not the same. If there is one sure reminder that I am not home it is the voices. No one speaks my language here. Shocking I know. But you may not know how odd it is to listen to the street voices outside your window and night and not know a single word. It is definitely hard to feel at home in those moments. Alas, this place is not at all like my fraternity house, but if I am to be their only tie than I relish the chance to combine my two worlds. Perspective, it's so much more attractive when it’s positive.