Time and decay (Part 2)

I continue to explore the connection of people and physical space. In a previous post, I compared the experience of stepping into stranger’s home to “latent space,” a place where stories are formed based on bits of surrounding information.

Perhaps a computer scientist would balk at the use of that term. I tried to do the definition justice, but to me, latent space just sounds like space. Like, outer space. Floating in a void. If there are things around, floating around next to you, they are barely out of reach. But you still try to make sense of them. And that is where I find myself when I step into a vacant unit.

To this end, I have three examples.

We inspected one unit that was home to a lady who smoked indoors for 9 years. Over time, neighbors said the smell was seeping through the walls into their apartments, so management asked her to leave. When she moved out, the walls were black. Even after cleaning the walls, replacing the floors, and repainting the apartment, the smell of cigarettes prevailed.

The second vacant unit had a more mysterious backstory. According to neighbors, it had been empty for weeks, but the residents’ van was still parked outside the front door. It was painter’s van, with two ladders strapped on the top and equipment in the back. A symbol of one’s livelihood, abandoned, for reasons we don’t know. It’s likely this person was deported.

The third unit belonged to an old man who notoriously kept to himself. So much so, he decided not to get help for his illness, much less tell anyone about it, and it turned out to be cancer. After not paying rent for a couple weeks, he was found dead in his apartment. A month later, I find myself standing in his empty living room, remarking at the smell hanging in the air. Unlike the smell of smoke, this smell was sour, pungent, stale, persistent.

Fragments of these stories followed me for days after I stood in those physical spaces. My mind churned to reconcile what I saw, smelled, heard, and felt with a coherent worldview. Where is God in this brokenness? What does restoration look like? Where does one even start? Surely, not even the best sermon, the most sensational spiritual experience, the most loving act of service would address these issue holistically. Grasping for answers, I find none that are within reach. None that are simple, none that are easy.