Diary Of Freedom

Independence

Today is the day.  Finally, after all the effort it took to make my parents agree to let me move out, it all seems worth it. I'm 21, after all. I gush out an air of happiness as I look at my new residence, just waiting to be inhabited. I may still have a tad bit of unpacking left but that doesn't stop me from pondering about the future. No one to tell me where to keep my nail paint. No one to screw with my head. When I'm having a bad day, no one to hide my tears from. I don't get why moving out of your parents' house is such a big deal. The air inside the house is yours, and only yours to do anything with. Leave coffee stains on the bed sheets and table and you have no one to answer to. This feels like freedom.

I decide to take a shower to clear my thoughts, to process this much information. I've always wanted to move out, since I was 15. It's not like my parents ever tortured me or something. But we had a few arguments. Well, a lot. Especially with my dad. We don't share views. After all, he was born and brought up in India and I've lived in Colorado my entire life. My mom is Indian too but she's far more considerate. I don't blame their origins for everything. I know where they come from and I respect that. It's just they didn't seem to understand my thought process, my dad didn't even try and that didn't go down well with me.

Now I'm happy. I have a degree in engineering, one that my dad forced me into. I don't regret it, though. I didn't exactly have anything else in mind. I have a good job that pays me enough. I have settled. Settling for me is being content, which I am right now.

I remember when I was 15, my mom told me that I had to stay with them until I was 23 and then get married to a guy of their choice. That pissed me off. I told her I definitely wasn't marrying at 23 and not to a guy of their choice, ever. She told me never to talk about it again, as if I just talked about how good my first time was. Ugh. That's when I decided that I'd move out as soon as I get my first job.

Just when I'm above to drift into the whole history that shaped my decision, I realise that I've been standing under the shower for ten minutes. I hate wasting water. I'm actually a very socially responsible person, to put it in modest words. I can't stand when people take things they have for granted. I hate when people waste food. I'm not going to say that typical "children are dying of hunger in Africa". But maybe I should because ironically, they are. Okay enough about that.

I walk out of the shower with wet legs, not bothering about the stains of water I left on the floor. A sign of me enjoying my new found freedom. I wear the first thing I find, a pair of jeans and T-shirt, obviously and turn on the TV and binge watch an entire season of stitchers. I watch for four hours before falling asleep on the couch. Ain't no one going to scold me for that anymore.

The next morning, I wake up and realise its only 5 am. I must have woken up early for I slept at 8 last night. I even skipped dinner. I scoot over to the kitchen. I am above to eat chips when I realise that though I may be free to eat whatever and whenever I want, these were limits. So I brush my teeth, eat a sandwich and decide to unpack a bit.

The woman next door told me this house had only one other occupant. A girl approximately my age. I didn't care enough to ask for more information. Kind lady, she is. She offered me help unpack but considering she has a 2-year-old to care for, I kindly refused saying there wasn't much left to do, which was a lie I might add.

I sit down to put my books at the underlying drawer near the TV as there's not enough space left in the shelf. I notice that there's a book. A good looking book. Green with yellow stripes. Engraved with a compass or a similar instrument was someone's name, 'Stephen' it says in big letters.