The proof of our corrupted social being is in the evolution of our habitation: It was a beautiful summer morning. From the second floor of my condo you could already see the more life in the trees than the sidewalk below that twisted and wound itself around and up to every human container. The buildings were close to one another, but guarded by vegetation and windows arranged to see out without seeing in. I could hear the neighbors above and below preparing for their day: The shower from the condo above roars on and the hallway outside booms with the sound of someone next store running late and heading down the stairs. I move out onto my balcony carrying my warm coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I place my coffee on the balcony’s edge and light up. The sun is hot but in the shade of the balcony above I can retreat from its intensity. Below me, a small yard on the ground floor extends out beyond the edge of my own and I can see the cobwebs building up around the chairs and table, the garbage bags piled up and the unattended flowerpots. I have lived here for almost a month and there has been no sign of life in the little yard below. As I stretch to investigate any sign of habitation, my still sleeping arms move without grace into my coffee mug, tipping over the edge. It may have been a mistake, but it may also have been my overwhelming desire to truly know whether or not someone lived there. The mug holds the coffee until the last minute, reaches a mysterious bag of things, bounces, and smashes at the concrete. I felt helpless standing there, looking down at the mess I had created in someone else’s home.
In order to not be late for work, I put my cigarette out, got dressed and left without addressing the event. Nine hours later I returned from work and rushed to the balcony. I looked over the edge and saw that the mess had been cleaned! Someone was living down there and I had probably caused at least some inconvenience for them. I felt terrible and immediately began to write a letter to place on their door apologizing for my negligence. I left the note on my neighbor’s door downstairs and awaited a reply.
It has been a week now and there has been no reply from my neighbors. The building is designed this way: to separate and divide. Here you can live out your life without ever coming in contact with another person. The hallways only contain doors for four rooms and the chance of you running into a neighbor, or even knowing who your neighbor is almost impossible. My neighbor will most likely never respond, because they have been provided an environment where they don’t have to. They are living in a controlled environment, a vacuum that allows them only the accountability they seek and only the socialization they choose. This is how we have evolved. From deeply social, accountable beings, to an individualism that divorces us from reality. As Peter Eisenman brilliantly explains, no matter how embedded our calculated, binary lives become, we will always fall prey to phenomenology and the effects of gravity. Some how a coffee mug will always come crashing through the imaginary walls we build, and we will have to face the reality of our coexistence and clean the mess that another has left for us.
