Woohoo, Boohoo

Woohoo: Dreaming of moving out

I’ve dreamt of moving out of my parent’s house since my first year of university. Three long years have passed, and I am now finally leaving to my new home. It’s a good location, good price, good roommates — everything I was patiently waiting for.

Finally, I’ll have my very own space, no parents to tell me to clean my room, to do the dishes, and to stop eating all the cookies. I’ll get to decorate my apartment however I want. Buy the food I actually want to eat. Put actual content on the TV I want to watch.

I’ll be no longer living in the isolated suburbs, but in the happening city. Unrestrained by distance, I’ll be able to walk to the grocery store, bike to school, and reasonably transit to work. Amazing. I will finally feel like an actual adult, with complete freedom.

Boohoo: Actually moving out

Yes, complete freedom —at the cost of over half my pay cheque each month, and the safety net of coddling parents. The fear of making the right choice, of having to choose which of my belongings will make it to the new home, and the fear of just plain real responsibility.

After paying the safety deposit, everything finally felt real, and it fucking terrified me.

This is pure fear that only continuing to binge-watch The Wire can absolve. All I can do to calm myself is to repeat: “You’ve wanted this for so long. It’s a good place. And you’ve already paid your money, so there’s no backing out now!” Let’s just hope that the fear subsides once I move in the first of March — wish me luck!

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