Love thy neighbour

I was 10 years old when our family moved to Sydney, Australia. At that point in my life, I could recite the alphabet but did not know how to read even the simplest of words in English (e.g., "girl"). It was a rather bold move, then, on the part of my parents, who decided to put their children not in a Japanese school but a local one. The private school that agreed to accommodate me—I wonder how much money my parents agreed to contribute?—happened to be a rather exclusive Anglican School for Girls. My form teacher decided to appoint the daughter of an Anglican Church minister to be my best friend. Whether this was done in an explicit intent to salvage the heathen illiterate Japanese girl is unknown, but it worked—not only did I attend the weekly chapel service at my school, but I also duly went to Sunday School every weekend. I learned the Bible quite well, and even won a prize in Year 9 in Divinity (Christian Studies classes), for having topped the class in the subject taught by an Anglican minister once a week.

It is interesting that three out of the Ten Commandments are concerning relationship to neighbours: we are not to betray or lie to them; we are not to want their things, including their wives. Jesus repeatedly tells us, throughout the Bible, that we must "love thy neighbour as thyself".

I am not sure that I can love my neighbours "as thyself", but one thing I can say after having lived in my current apartment for two years: I KNOW my neighbours pretty well. It's not that I socialize with them, aside from the "bonjour"s that we exchange as we pass each other in the stairwell/hallway; the problem is that sound travels well in old Parisian apartments, making it impossible not to note the hours that my neighbours get up in the morning, leave their rooms, and come back from work. I have shared, perhaps unknowingly by the neighbours themselves, the moment when the baby who lives upstairs took its first steps (and keeps on taking, by the way he runs across the floor oh every so often); the day the people who live downstairs first came back from the hospital with their baby; the lonely cries of the puppy throughout the night that another neighbour brought him home; and the way that the relationship between the couple next door suddenly disintegrated.

In fact, I feel that I have got to know the people next door to us quite intimately, as our bedrooms are right next to each other; about a year ago, the owner left his apartment in care of his former girlfriend, who now has a new beau, who sleeps there often (if he hasn't moved in already). According to a survey conducted by Durex, the maker of condoms, the average number of times people have sex is 103 times a year; the Greeks top the list at 138 times a year, while Japan is noted as being 'the least amorous, having sex just 45 times a year". France tied 5th on the list with the Czech Republic, at 120 times a year—which calculate as every three days. Which sounds just right, as it's roughly the frequency that I hear my neighbour and her new boyfriend.

The lesson to be learned? When choosing an apartment in Paris, choose one with the least number of neighbours; the paper-thin walls of most apartments in Paris—regardless of the year of construction—could make life difficult. If possible, better to have no neighbours at all—and that apartment on the top floor may be worth the number of steps you have to take every day (elevators can be rather rare except in modern buildings). It may also be worth checking where your neighbour's bedroom is located, and its relation to yours—remember, not only will you be hearing the joys and woes of your neighbours, but you will also be heard by your neighbours!