I hate living in a condo, but I love living with people in a condo.
I hate the neighbor who is always stealing my clothespins and my space in the drying area.
I hate the guy who always sprints to take the elevator before me and locks it at his own floor.
I hate whoever is calling the police over decades old grudges against family members who are now down in the grave.
But
I love the old lady downstairs who knew I'm going through rough times and this morning brought us croissants and jam.
I love the condo admin who is calling me to check if we're alright and if I need to vent with someone.
I love the guy who plays the saxophone that makes the sound of a big city more bearable.
I love the middle-aged punk who always takes time to put everyone's mail in the correct box when the postman leaves everything in the general box.
I love the Pakistani hotel entrepreneur who helped my husband fix the main door.
I love the old Chinese man who doesn't speak a single word in my language, but always gestures happily at my dog.
I hate living in a condo, but I dearly love most of the people in it.