The building itself was a giant cement cube with windows. You probably think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. That's exactly how I described the place to everyone on campus and they always knew which building I was talking about. It looked like a crack den from the outside.
However, inside had just been remodeled. The wood floors were refinished, the cabinets were replaced, and overall it was pretty nice. The windows had a draft and you had to jiggle the handle on the toilet after you flushed but it was good enough for a college student.
Since it was totally my own apartment I had to come up with furniture entirely on my own. I already had a bed, desk, and dresser from Ikea but that was it. Luckily I have very giving friends and family. My friends grandma was moving so she gave me her kitchen table and chairs, my aunt donated a rolling filing cabinet that I used as a bar cart, I used an old bench as a coffee table, bought a used armchair for $15 and bought a futon from target that was 50% off. All decorations were DIY besides a tapestry I had bought in Portland. It was shabby and mismatched but it was all mine.
When I moved out two months ago I cried. That apartment had held massive parties, double dates, sorority events, and been the perfect home for a year. I had never felt so emotionally attached to a home in my life. Even my parents house doesn't feel as much like home as that apartment does.
I'm now living across the country in a tiny company-owned studio apartment with my boyfriend and I feel so apartment-sick. It feels like being home-sick, but is also accompanied by the overwhelming dread of knowing that I will never see that place again, because it's no loger mine to call home. I hope that soon I'll be living in an apartment that I can decorate and call home again, but I think I'll always have a place in my heart for my first apartment back in Delaware.