Smell thy neighbor

I lived in an apartment building for the first three years of my life (back in Malaysia, where apartments are better known as flats). Then my parents bought a house, and suddenly we had a front yard where my brother and I could play with the garden hose on a hot afternoon, and a backyard where we grew mangoes and limes and four-angled beans. I lived in that house until I went to college.

Now, I live in an apartment again -- one about 12,000 miles away from where I grew up. And I wish I could remember what it was like to live in an apartment in Malaysia. Here's what it's like living in an apartment building in New York:

I never speak to my neighbors. In fact, I barely ever see my neighbors. New Yorkers are intensely private people, especially the twenty-something single ones, and getting to know your neighbor is pointless and inconvenient for the most part. There are some exceptions; I hear stories of summer cookouts on the roof of some apartments, and the whole building is invited. But for the most part, apartment living in NYC is characterized by isolation, punctuated by polite nods and hasty hello's as neighbors pass each other on the stairs.

The funny thing about living in an apartment is this: there are some things you just can't hide from people. My neighbors can conceal their faces, but they can't hide their odors. Since I live on the top floor of an elevator-less building, I have to walk past every door of every apartment. I made mental notes on my way up from work today. This is what each floor smells like:

1st Floor - hint of bleach, but very slight
2nd Floor - rotten cabbage
3rd Floor - something medicinal, like Chinese herbal tea
4th Floor - cooked carrots
5th Floor (my floor) - almost odorless

I could make this an ongoing series and report these odors daily, but the truth is the fourth floor always smells like cooked carrots.