Although I only spent a few nights in my friend’s former apartment, those evenings lingered with me much longer than I had anticipated. It seemed innocuous at the time—an empty space, a brief visit, nothing noteworthy. The kind of choice you make without second thought. However, I learned something from those days that I had never really thought about before: you may be affected by new places long after you’ve left.
You can’t see the history of old apartments. Not recollections or tales, but tangible evidence—chemical, microscopic, and biological. Long after previous residents have left, they continue to exist in air ducts, nooks, and textiles. They are invisible as you enter. The floors appear sufficiently clean. The bed appears to be in good condition. The scent of the space is neutral. However, your body becomes the first to detect what your eyes missed at night when you are motionless and your defense is down.
I had to learn the lesson the hard way.
The apartment itself appeared unremarkable. It’s a little outdated, but not dangerous. An ancient mattress, a shabby couch, and carpets that had seen better days. I didn’t give it much thought. Like most people, I thought that obvious pollution, not unseen residue, was dangerous. I slept there, got up, and carried on with my day. My skin didn’t begin to react till the second night.
