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I moved into a new apartment in August 2022. It was brand new and owned by a sweet middle-aged couple who were going away to the tropics as the chilly monsoon approached. Ignoring the lack of sunlight in the apartment, I agreed to a four-year lease right away, partly because of the kind landlords and partly because of the amenities I was going to get by living in that complex.
I lived on the humble fourth floor in flat number 404. Four is quite my number, is it not? Moving forward, I moved into flat number 404 on August 12, 2022, at 12 PM. As per tradition, I bit into a melted Twix bar to commemorate the move-in.
The first night of sleep was as good as sinking into the biggest cloud in the sky. I woke up feeling better than ever, proud of my choice to say the least. On the second day, I couldn't wait to get home and relax, living my big girl dreams. Just as I unlocked the door and walked in, the smell of fresh toffee hit my nostrils. I brushed it off, thinking it was just my new house blues. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't. I checked the kitchen in hopes of finding the source but had no luck. I let it go as the exhaustion from working all day caught up to me.
A week went by, and the toffee smell was constant. I scoured the walls and every inch of the apartment to figure out where the smell was coming from, finally concluding that it had to be carbon monoxide poisoning. Alas! I was wrong. The detector did nothing but create a dent in my pocket; the smell persisted.
A month went by, and the fragrance left a mark on every surface of my tiny home—the walls, the curtains, my clothes, and my sheets. I began spotting ants in the living room and tried to get rid of them using sprays and whatnot, but nothing changed. It got to the point where pest control had to be called. They tried their best, but it changed nothing. The smell and the ants remained unbothered.
It was suffocating. Living there as the scent of toffee permeated everything I owned felt like I was drowning deeper every day. It made me extremely paranoid. My coworkers questioned me about why I was so shaken up, but I could not reply to them. The fear of being judged far outweighed my desperation for a normal life. I lived with it. I could hear the ants moving in their symmetrical formations, chattering away, picking up crumbs. None of my excessive cleaning stopped their routine. As I slept, I could feel them crawling beneath my ear, at the base of my scalp, over my collarbones, in the crevices of my ribs—practically everywhere. It was maddening. I was at my limit. On the evening of October 12, just about two months into my lease, I contacted my landlords regarding the termination, just so I could be put out of my misery.
Even continents away, my landlords seemed to have noticed my anxiousness. They were certainly kind and agreed to terminate my lease after a series of four meetings in the span of one week. By mid-October, I was ready to move out.
How is this relevant, you ask? Well, let me tell you. Weeks after moving out, I sought help after my family urged me to. My therapist suspected I was suffering from hallucinations caused by the stress of making several big decisions in a short span of time. I was hesitant but completed the prescribed course. My life thereafter went back to normal. My next few apartments gave me no issues at all, almost making me think that the first one was cursed or haunted by a little child who loved toffee.
Coming back to the present and the actual reason why this ordeal is relevant: I purchased my first condominium on Thursday, January 11, 2024. Although sparsely furnished, it is a culmination of my hard work. I have been savoring every moment and taking in as much of the excitement as possible. Until yesterday, the evening of the 25th, I tidied up and slipped under the covers. Just as I was drifting into slumber, I heard the familiar chatter of ants beneath my ear. I brushed it off and went to sleep as a way of avoidance. On the morning of the 26th, I woke up to the smell of toffee.