The nest

So I've been kind of busy.  I've moved!  By which I mean, I'm not living with my family anymore.  I love my family and I miss them something fierce but this was one New Year's resolution I just had to fulfil.  I've wanted to live by myself for a long time, to just learn how to be more independent and see where it takes me.  

My parents wanted to be involved in the process, and after we sort-of put the flat together, it was finally time to say goodbye.  I'm no stranger to living alone, having done it in three different countries, but this was somewhat more permanent and I found myself mourning and celebrating in equal measure.

I'm really close to my family.  We've grown up in each other's pockets our whole lives and for eight years, my mother and father single-handedly raised the three of us - a 24/7 job.  We never wanted for anything and we always felt safe and loved.  So on my last night at a home that is now not exactly home, I hid away in my bedroom and packed with tears running down my cheeks.  

I was furious at myself for still feeling melancholic when my parents finally left; I was so lucky, I knew I still had their full love and support and besides, wasn't this something I'd wished and hoped for?  At my age, it felt foolish to be so morose.  I'd been worrying about dealing with pests on my own as well, and that first night, the Universe sent a finger-length cockroach my way, just to remind me that I was truly alone.  I'll be honest here and say that I've been toting a can of orange-scented Baygon from room to room at night.

Since then, I've felt mostly happy to be on my own, but occasionally panicked about the prospect of frightening things to come.  The place is beautiful and much nicer than I deserve, but my time has been mostly occupied with sorting, cleaning and full-time work and even though the thought of living alone is exhilarating, I've been a little too tired to fully appreciate the feeling.  

This evening though, I came home late after work to a pile of things I'd gotten from Ikea.  After conducting my preliminary nighttime cockroach checks, I settled down on the floor with a cup of tea, put on some music and got to assembling my (auspiciously named) Skanka cookware set.  My father urged me to buy this cute, self-contained toolbox and I was enjoying discovering each individual screwdriver head and what it did.  The pots were coming together beautifully; none of that creaky kerfluffle you sometimes get from reading Ikea directions upside down.  And quite suddenly, in the midst of singing along loudly to the King and I soundtrack (am I right?) I realised that I was finally feeling relaxed and having fun.

I think the transition will take a little while to get used to yet, but sitting here, looking around at a place that I helped to put together and that is slowly starting to feel like a safe haven, I'm feeling pretty damn optimistic about it.