A Song from the Past
There’s a song that starts with the narration, “Oppa, smile a little.”
It’s Day of Peace by Epik High, a track from their 2004 album High Society.
I’m no “oppa,” but this song used to be my go-to whenever anger bubbled up inside me. I hadn’t thought about it in years — until recently.
The Sting of a Scam
Before finding this place, I had gone through a housing scam while trying to sublet a dorm room — a story I’ll explain in another post.
My face must have looked worn out as I walked across campus afterward. Scams have a way of draining you twice: once financially, and again emotionally. When you’re hit, you don’t just blame the scammer — you exhaust all your energy blaming yourself. I was no exception.
My fourth semester of grad school was slipping away, and I needed to focus on my thesis. Instead, I was stuck in a hellish shared house, unable to escape. Securing my own student housing in Sweden felt impossible, and the exhaustion was starting to hollow me out.
A Note of Hope
One day, as I wore my gloom like a mask, my German friend A handed me a small note with a smiling face drawn on it. Tucked inside was a piece of chocolate bread.
On the note, written in German, was a phrase that echoed the message of Epik High’s Day of Peace.
Kopf hoch & lach doch mal.
I don’t speak German, so I asked her what it meant.
“Read it like kopf hokh en lakh dokh mal,” she said.
“It means, ‘Chin up and smile.’”
Her dazzling blue eyes sparkled like crystals as she handed me the note. In that moment, I realized I had two choices when bad things happen: rise above them — or let them knock me out completely.
A Glimmer of Opportunity
Not long after, I saw it — a Facebook post in the neighborhood near the Kviberg tram stop, where my German friend P lived.
An Italian PhD student named Maria was subletting her dorm apartment because she was heading to Hungary for an internship.
I had visited P’s dorm before, as well as my American friend M’s. This place was different.
- No shared kitchen
- No converted old hotel with paper-thin walls
- No fourteen people sharing a single fridge
It was perfect.
Maria asked for a self-introduction via Facebook message. I poured my heart out — about my struggles with shared housing in Sweden, the recent scam, everything. It felt a little pathetic, but I decided this was the moment to be completely honest.
A Meeting That Changed Everything
After a long, agonizing day of waiting, Maria replied. I had made the shortlist, and she wanted to meet in person at her research building.
Gothenburg has two universities: the University of Gothenburg and Chalmers University of Technology. The University of Gothenburg doesn’t have a single campus — its buildings are scattered across the city, marked only by modest nameplates.
As a social sciences student, I had only ever set foot in the humanities and business buildings. Maria’s engineering building was entirely new territory.
On the second floor of a bright orange building, I met her — tall, with long brown hair and tortoiseshell glasses. I wondered if I was making a good impression. After the scam, I had become so guarded that I could barely tell how I came across anymore.
As we talked, Maria’s thick brown eyelashes fluttered as she said:
“Did you really get scammed recently? Your message broke my heart.
I received 140 messages right after posting the listing — but your story hit me the hardest.
That’s why I wanted to meet you.”
My overly pitiful message was about to land me a new home.
Unbelievable.
Securing the Deal
Maria seemed trustworthy, but after being burned once, I wasn’t taking any chances.
In Gothenburg, student dorms are managed by SGS (Stiftelsen Göteborgs Studentbostäder), a nonprofit foundation. To sublet legally, Maria, SGS, and I had to sign a three-party contract.
Many students skip this step for short sublets, handling agreements informally. My European friends often did this during summer breaks. But after the scam, I insisted on doing everything by the book.
When I finally saw my name neatly typed on the mailbox of my new dorm apartment, I felt an unexpected swell of pride.
It was such a small thing — but after living in places where my name was tacked on alongside a landlord’s or roommates’, this felt different.
For the first time, it was my space.
Living in Sweden often meant navigating unfamiliar systems — from housing to everyday routines like shared laundry rooms and even cooking for oneself in a new environment.
A Space of My Own
Maria’s apartment was on the third floor, flooded with sunlight. Everything fit perfectly — a TV, sofa bed, queen-sized bed, foldable dining table, bookshelf, and even a walk-in closet.
In Sweden, I had always lived in shared spaces. The living room TV was either claimed by the landlord or hijacked by roommates’ friends throwing impromptu parties. I’d grown used to watching shows alone on my iPad in bed.
Having a TV that was entirely mine felt like an absurd luxury.
Finding Joy in Solitude
With a space of my own, everything felt lighter.
I’d had terrible luck with housemates in Sweden — a nightmare landlord in 2015, and exhausting roommates in 2016 for reasons too many to list. Not having to pull strangers’ hair out of drains or stare at stacks of unwashed yogurt bowls felt liberating.
Slowly, the gloom of 2016 faded.
And just like that, I began to fall in love with Sweden — and Gothenburg — all over again.