My roommate was a lanky Chinese kid who didn't understand hygiene or personal space (my parents gossiped that he must be from one of those regions where people only shower once a week). I'm not sure if he actually smelled bad because I would breathe with my mouth around him, but his long, unwashed hair was slick with oil; when he wanted me to check something online with my laptop, he would lean over until his nose was practically touching the screen, with his greasy hair draping over my keyboard and hands. I quickly opted for the rest of the year to sleep on the couch in the common area, just so I didn't have to deal with him every night. I only go back inside to grab a change of clothes and bathroom essentials, and every time I do I see piles of his stuff strewn about carelessly with the occasional box of half-eaten food. The place smelled.
...
Most of the people within the dorm were mindful of others, the only exception being the loud gaggle of Chinese exchange students that would hang out in the common area around midnight (very insular group, couldn't find myself ever being a part of them). I can sleep through the noise, but you can tell they were around before you even enter the building. They would also stand outside of the entrance to have a cigarette, regardless of if there were any windows open for the secondhand smoke to blow inside.
One time, they cooked for themselves using the common area's kitchen, spilling a jar of fermented bamboo shoots in the process. The common area reeked of the stuff, so I ended up being the one to wipe the mess up since they didn't. Couldn't really do anything about the pot of cooked rice they left out though, and nobody claimed it until the contents inside have already turned into an exciting tableau of feathery mold days later.