one's own nest

Today is Saturday morning. I woke up slightly hung over from a baby shower ( ask me in person ) and after breakfast, one of the things I did was to sweep and wipe my bedroom floor.

This would not be such a big thing, except to people like my mother, ( who has a highly strong opinion on my therefore lack of housekeeping skills ) and people who've seen the state of my old bedroom at its best.

It would be a fair opinion. The number of times I voluntarily swept and mopped the floor of my old bedroom can be counted on both hands. Also with the number of bric-brac I had there, wiping everything free of dust would have been a task equal to the Aegean stables.

Why then am I actually getting up early on a weekend morning to engage in this housekeeping task?

One reason I think is the new sense of independence from living on my own. When you live with your parents, you don't have to worry much about the room getting dirty. First, you might have a maid that would take care of that for you. Second, the frequent nagging, sorry, reminders, from your parents would have made sure your room was cleaned on a somewhat regular basis.

When those two factors are not there anymore, who is responsible? Your parents aren't here, your maid isn't here. The only ones here are you and the extremely lucky soul who is sharing the room with you. In a way, I have to make sure I keep the room clean myself, because no one will do it for me anymore. ( Also, you have to keep the opinion of your MIL in a slightly more than average regard )

This was somewhat the case while I was living in the hostel. In the case of our laundry, taking loads of laundry back home to wash was a highly inconvenient option. You had to do your laundry yourself, or you went around naked and smelly in your room.

I think that's what one particular group of male hostelites did. Their room was near the kitchenette, so every time you went to boil water, you could smell the stench in the open corridor. Through the closed door. To this day, Yenn and I will always remember that room, despite never having ( and never wanting ) to see the guys who actually dared to stay inside.

Living oneself is like growing up in a way. It forces you to take responsibility for yourself, and to remember all those lessons in cleaning up and fixing up that your parents drove into your childhood. I do know of people who become changed characters when they start living on their own. You can tell that they have a different air of maturity about them sometimes, and they seem more confident of how to navigate in this world.

Well, that's life for you, isn't it? I can only hope that the longer I live on my own, that I can have that air of confidence already.