Principle Isn't Worth My Peace

Finding a long-term apartment was the first thing I wanted to do the moment I landed at Galeão Airport in Rio de Janeiro on April 20th, 2026. I had been looking at apartments online for several weeks before my arrival, but couldn't find any that met my criteria. I figured I'd have better luck once I got on the ground.

I was looking for a furnished two-bedroom apartment that would cost me no more than $650 USD per month. I quickly had to rule out the South Zone, the part of the city where most expats live. It includes neighborhoods such as Copacabana, Ipanema, Botafogo, Flamengo, and Leblon. Within my budget, the best I could find in the South Zone was a studio apartment, which I refused to consider after spending much of my college years and early adulthood living in studios.

I turned my attention to the North Zone. Having stayed there during my previous visit to Rio, I knew that safety would be a bigger concern the farther I moved from the South Zone. So, I focused my search on neighborhoods in the North Zone that were located along Rio's main metro line and didn't require a bus.

The search in the North Zone came with its own challenges. There were apartments I liked, but the surrounding areas were far from what I had in mind. I wanted to live somewhere walkable—an area where everything I needed was right outside my door, or at least within a short walk, and where I felt relatively safe.

One evening, after a discouraging apartment viewing in a neighborhood where I didn't feel safe at all, I walked to a gas station and sat down, wondering whether I had made the right decision to move to Rio. As I was preparing to order an Uber back to the room I was renting in Copacabana, I heard the Holy Spirit say, "Take an Uber to the nearest mall."

The Uber ride led me to Shopping Tijuca. Before I could make my way up the escalator inside the mall, the Holy Spirit instructed me to go outside through one of the street-level exits.

I followed a crowd out of the mall and onto a bustling commercial street. It was exactly the kind of street I had imagined living on. It was lined with coffee shops, restaurants, clothing stores, grocery stores, gyms, and just about every type of business you could think of.

I was standing in the heart of the Tijuca neighborhood, and that's where I decided to focus my apartment search.

Not long after, I found an apartment in Tijuca through a Facebook Marketplace listing. It was a furnished two-bedroom apartment for R$3,000 (around $600 USD per month). Two weeks later, I signed the lease and moved in.

I absolutely loved the apartment and spent the first few weeks transforming it into a space I could truly call home. I bought a beautiful desk for my home office, plants for the living room, and even a washer-dryer combo for the separate laundry area, which I was delighted to have.

To me, this apartment was a blessing from God.

Everything was going well. Until one morning, when I went to take a shower, and there was no hot water.

I then tried to turn on the stove. It wouldn't light. This confirmed what I had suspected.

The gas was off.

I immediately went to the gas company, which, in good Tijuca fashion, was within walking distance. There, I learned that the gas had been disconnected because a gas leak had been reported. The gas would only be turned back on after a new inspection confirmed that the leak had been resolved.

I called the landlord, and that's when our relationship turned sour.

She claimed that she had given me the apartment with the gas on and that it was my responsibility to solve whatever issue was affecting the gas. I explained that the level of Portuguese communication required to resolve the issue was beyond what I could comfortably handle and that the leak was a pre-existing issue that I shouldn't be held responsible for.

Her WhatsApp messages became increasingly hostile, particularly once she learned the cost of a new inspection and the repairs that might be required. I immediately began looking for an English-speaking lawyer because the situation appeared to be getting out of hand.

I thought to myself, "God, this is the apartment You blessed me with. Why would You give me such a horrible landlord?"

Then I remembered: people will be people.

Just because God places us somewhere doesn't mean we won't experience conflict. That's like expecting there to be no conflict at a job God blesses me with.

So, before moving forward with a lawyer whom I had already contacted and who was willing to speak with my landlord, I prayed and asked God to give me the patience and wisdom I needed to deal with the situation myself.

Eventually, the landlord scheduled an inspection and paid for it. The inspection report showed there was no leak. I took the report to the gas company and was told they would not restore service until the inspection was completed by the company that had originally reported the leak. The new report had been issued by a completely different company.

I contemplated calling the landlord back, but I knew that the moment she learned the inspection she had paid for hadn't solved the problem, she would blow a gasket. I decided that contacting her wasn't worth the headache.

Instead, I went through the long process of communicating with the company that had issued the original report.

They submitted a request to have the gas temporarily restored until they could come out and perform another inspection. I'm still not certain whether the inspection will cost anything or whether additional repairs will be required, but I've decided I'll handle whatever comes.

Either way, the cost isn't nearly as high when converted to U.S. dollars.

While I believe it is the landlord's responsibility to handle a pre-existing gas issue and would ordinarily push the matter as a matter of principle, I am learning that, in some situations, principle simply isn't worth my peace.

I love my apartment, and I feel blessed to have found it.

I won't allow a miserable landlord to stop me from enjoying God's blessing.