Let’s Talk About: Living Alone
It’s been 8 months. After living alone for almost 2 years, I moved back in. Maybe I’m overreacting or maybe I’m reeling, but the fact that it’s been 8 months still feels surreal to me.
When I started living alone I was so sure. So sure that’ll I’ll miss home every second of the day I breathed. And I did. I missed seeing my mom on the couch, I missed seeing my brother sleep in his room, and I especially missed dad’s breakfast. But on the flip side of that coin I missed my life. I missed eating whenever I wanted to. I missed binging shows, playing music non-stop, having friends over, the drunk, messy nights, the feasts I’d have at 12 midnight. Sometimes I ask myself, do I hate being here? At home? Where people are always there for me, where I don’t have to cook, eat on my own and wash my own dishes? If I really think about it? No I don’t. When I pondered on it I think most of it is I miss my life. My life where I called all the shots, where I was responsible of everything, where I could make mistakes and correct them too.
It’s the sense of independence and control. That I had my shit together and it works. Here, none of my shit works. It’s as if everything I’ve worked for these past couple of years were trashed. I felt like my life was moving backwards. That instead of moving forward, I’m back where I started; in my room, in front of my screen, being told what to do. I was so sure I was on the right track, but I guess not anymore.
Or maybe.. It’s just a hurdle. A learning curve. Maybe I was brought back because there are bigger things in the scary void called “the future”. Maybe there’s a lesson here. A silver lining. And I can’t wait to learn what it is.