Yesterday, the first real opportunity to move out of my family home presented itself.
I was talking to a friend at church, and she told me that the flat she’s staying in will have a room available starting in June. She told me how much it would cost and all that. I laughed it off a bit, saying that I don’t have an income ($15 a week doesn’t count as an income), so I wouldn’t really have any way to pay for it.
But like it normally does, my mind starting wandering down the path of what if. What if I did move? What if I found some way to pay for it? What if I took this step now, instead of in fourish years?
At first, I was thinking about moving in the sense of being in a new house. Then I clicked that moving to a new house would mean leaving my old one.
This is the only house that I’ve ever lived in. My parents moved in about six months before I was born. I’ve had the same bedroom since I was a week old, and it’s the exact room I’m in right now. I know this house inside and out. I know where all the flaky bits of paint on doorframes and the partly painted screws are. I know the spots in the hallway where the floor creaks a little. This room that I’m in? It is the only room in the entire world that has ever been just mine. Sure, someone had it before me, but that was before I was born. For all intents and purposes, this is my room.
This is home. There is absolutely no question about it. Maybe some people don’t get attached to places, because they move around a bit, but this is home for me.
It’s not just the building. It’s the memories that it contains. You know, I’ve probably spent at least 50% of my life in this building. That’s a lot of time to make a lot of memories. And that’s a lot to think about leaving behind.
Of course, there’s also the fact that I’d be leaving my family. Although it’s tempting at times, it would be an extremely difficult thing to do.
The thought of moving out is daunting. But it’s not the money that’s daunting, or having to fend for myself, as challenging as it may be. It’s the thought of leaving home. That’s a phrase that we use a lot, to mean moving out, but for me, it means such a great deal more. I’ve never had to pack up, say goodbye, and move my entire life to a different location. I’ve never had to make a place home before. And the thought of doing that is the most daunting thing in the world.
Right now, I feel very much like a small child, clinging to my mother’s leg, not wanting to let go and play on my own. So for now, I’ll probably stay. I mean, it’s the smart thing to do. Free accommodation and food and everything. But really, I’m staying because I’m not ready to leave.
I’m staying because this is my home.