I lived in a classic San Francisco mansion that housed 20 people. It was bright yellow on the outside, a glowing source of light in the gray and foggy Sunset district. It was given the name the Santiago Mansion. This was the house I lived in during my exchange semester abroad. It was the first look I had into San Francisco, and I’ve never been able to look back since.
Normally, when you meet housemates, you are greeted with a couple of people who lay down the house rules. Meeting my housemates for the first time was like a dinner party. There were twenty names and faces to remember, distinct personalities and energies all around, yet not many rules at all. We agreed to be a community, to help each other when necessary. When I asked for a house key, somebody simply replied, “We don’t really use them around here.”
Normally, when you meet housemates, you are greeted with a couple of people who lay down the house rules. Meeting my housemates for the first time was like a dinner party.
These energies were spread across the three stories of the house, and none of the personalities were identical. We had bros who played beer pong on the regular, dancers, writers, poets, shaggy-haired musicians, hippies, hipsters and couples who were not right for each other. The top floor had a balcony from which you could watch the most stunningly sprawling sunsets and sunrises that would kiss the horizon on Ocean Beach. The common room upstairs seemed to be designed for house parties and movie nights, and it was a safe space for all of us to bond and get to know each other. Nothing about the house was part of a normal living situation, but because we all lived together in it, it became our united normalcy.
I’ve had sex on that balcony, snorted cocaine with at least 10 people off the putrid countertop of our communal kitchen, taken Molly at 9:00 p.m. on a Monday night, conducted a job interview while the police were raiding the house and danced with my friends till our bodies collapsed. I had a coordinated housemate acid trip while watching Flying Lotus music videos after a big Thanksgiving dinner; co-hosted a benefit for the tragic fire that burned down the Oakland Ghost Ship warehouse; and hosted the biggest Halloween house party in San Francisco, which brought in four hundred people. Through these gatherings I have learned more about humanity than I ever thought possible.
We attracted characters. We had frequent visitors, like a 40-year-old dealer who would wear his virtual-reality goggles, a man in a top hat who always looked like he was micro-dosing, and a couple who lived in a van and would always bring their beautiful Siberian Husky with them. The house was the perfect illuminated portrait of San Francisco, and it gave me so much insight about the individuality and diversity that San Francisco actively celebrates. When we threw parties, they were never designated for any type of crowd; they was open and welcome to all people to be their truest selves.
It was a place in which to sharpen your social skills, meet the love of your life, reunite with an old friend you had not seen in years and come to terms with broken relationships. After a while, we felt like we were providing a service, and it became a duty for us to keep it running.
You may have been to the Santiago Mansion. It was a safe place to go after the 2:00 a.m. bar lockouts and was a haven for drug culture and socializing. It was a place in which to sharpen your social skills, meet the love of your life, reunite with an old friend you had not seen in years and come to terms with broken relationships. After a while, we felt like we were providing a service, and it became a duty for us to keep it running.
But living there and going there for a party were totally different stories. When you’ve decided to end a night out, you usually go back home to retreat. We did not have that option. My room was right next to the kitchen, and I shared it with two very special women. We invited people into our room with open arms, and in doing so, some would never leave. When your house is the venue, there is nowhere to go home after. This was your home, and you slept when everybody else finally went to rest.
Fun slowly became an obligation, and healing others became part of our daily routine. On some nights, we didn’t want to pick up the pieces guests had left for us. Constant interaction made me blossom socially but also caused me to unravel. I was afraid of silence and addicted to being occupied, and my need for rest was replaced by an irrational fear that I was missing out on something occurring right outside my door. It became such a safe space for others to be free that it became unsafe for its own residents and their mental health.
I was afraid of silence and addicted to being occupied, and my need for rest was replaced by an irrational fear that I was missing out on something occurring right outside my door. It became such a safe space for others to be free that it became unsafe for its own residents and their mental health.
The downfall of the house was inevitable. I had returned home to Australia when I had heard about the house folding. There was a clash of energies; rent was no longer being paid; and too many police reports had been filed regarding the noise. Eventually, I think people had given up on the upkeep of the house because they needed to focus their energy on themselves.
The house saved me in so many ways. I started to understand the beauty of humanity by constantly being surrounded by it. By breathing in other people’s energies and absorbing their differences, I became open to everything and everyone. By observing people seek romance or sex, I was able to also understand the weight of human loneliness and the desire for companionship. By watching people get high out of their minds, I also witnessed intense comedowns. I watched people run away from their problems, all while trying to remember to address my own.
I look to the Santiago Mansion no longer for salvation or sanctity but as a profound lesson in gaining wisdom through experience. I have met people I want to know for lifetimes and have learned so much from all of them. The mansion saved us, but unfortunately, we were not able to save it. This profound snapshot of San Francisco will be preserved in the minds of many. May it forever rest in peace.
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