Sydney Life

I spent tonight packing up all my bits and pieces, ready for my moving out on Saturday. It's amazing how many little things you collect over the years and I got a bit emotional tonight as I sifted through 21 years worth of memories...

I'm scared. Really, really scared. Moving out is more than just paying bills, cooking and cleaning for yourself. That bit is fine. I'm not scared of that. What I am scared of is failing. Moving out is such an important statement about your ability to meet your own needs.

I'm scared of making the wrong decision about where I live and who I live with. I’m scared because for the first time I’m taking a major decision into my own hands, without really following the advice of my parents. My folks haven’t even seen the house I’m moving to! I think I’m having trouble fathoming the big adult responsibilities I’m taking on. I am now a fully kosher adult. Ouch.

It’s not that I haven’t made big decisions before. I made the decision on what to study at uni and where to study it. I took the risk of coming to Sydney Uni with the hope of transferring into Arts/Law after first year, instead of going somewhere else where I would get in automatically, because I knew this was the campus for me. But that was a much smaller risk. After all, all education is valuable education and I started doing a degree that I really loved anyway.

Now, things are different. I’m moving into a house with 4 people who I have met twice, at most. This is Big Brother. Without the cameras. And thankfully, without Gretel Killeen. At least that makes it a little less scary. I don’t think my house has a sauna though. That’s a shame. But I have a sunroom. Sunrooms are cool. The sunroom might feel like a sauna on really hot days. Too bad it is winter at the moment. I hope I last long enough to feel summer at the house. I’m sure I will. Stay positive, damn it.

My CDs are packed away now. I’ve raided the linen cupboard for bed sheets, towels and pillows. I’ve nestled all my photo frames in between the towels to protect them for the journey. Maybe if I need to protect myself from the world, I can just wrap myself in towels too. I wonder what the nudity protocols are around the house? Do people wear bathrobes coming out of the shower? Or is a quick nudie dash OK? I wonder if other people wrap their hair up too…

Is it weird to brush your teeth in the shower? Am I going to be a really hard person to live with? At least I can cook. I’ll do what my Arab mother taught me best: reconcile all fights with food. I’ll just feed my housemates until they become dependent. Then they won’t mind me singing around the house…

Why do we keep so many damn photo trails of our exs? It’s not as if packing your stuff to move out isn’t emotional enough! Having to live through all the stages of your past relationships in one night is not pleasant. It was hard enough to go through relationships at the time and over a period of years. Gosh, he was so cute. A boyfriend right now would make this so much less scary. Unless the boyfriend was anything like any of my exs. That would suck.

So how do I know I’m making the right decisions? I know, I should quiz myself…

You know you’ve found the right house when:

1. You’ve started rearranging furniture in your head.
Check.

2. You’re speculating on the right hues and throw rugs to create an ‘inviting and homely ambiance’.
Check. I’ve got a throw on lay-by.

3. You think the peeling paint adds aesthetic texture.
Check.

4. You start organising a theme for your housewarming party that reflects the house’s architectural era style.
Well I’ve decided on having a housewarming, but not yet up to the theme stage. But I don’t think that’s too important.

5. You have an unyielding need to try out the toilet. (You know you’ve definitely found the right place if you sit down ‘raw’; that is, when you don’t line the seat with toilet paper before you sit down).
OH MY GOD! I haven’t tried the toilet… either protected or raw! *Panics*. *Relaxes*. It’s OK. There’s nothing a spot of bleach can’t fix.

You know you’re ready to move out when:

1. You start watching Oprah for interior decorating ideas (and develop a strong attraction for Oprah’s spunky interiors’ advisor, Nate Berkus).
Nate, if you’re reading this: marry me!… and then come and make over my house. My house… hmmm, I’m already showing ownership. That’s got to be a good sign.

Above: Nate the Great

2. You join the loyalty program at Spotlight, to get regular updates on homemaker specials.
Ah yes, that’s my secret shame. I'm probably the only 21 year old male in Sydney who has a rewards card with Spotlight.

3. You develop a comprehensive spreadsheet budget with:

(a) Weekly expenditure forecasts – complete with a coffee allowance.
Done. I can definitely afford coffee every morning – everything will be fine.

(b) A statistically-sound model forecasting your expected income, based on environmentally-mediated averages from the previous six months’ income.
Done. It helps to have an accountant mother.

4. Have looked into your legal rights and responsibilities as either a co-tenant, subtenant or boarder (and know the legal difference between the three).
I found a great website on tips for people moving into share housing: The Share Housing Survival Guide. That actually makes me feel more prepared.

5. Have honestly documented all your good and bad habits to a group of people who will become your new housemate family.
I told them I sing in the shower. I told them I will rearrange the lounge room to incorporate fung shui principles. I told them I like musical theatre. I can handle a loud voice. I can handle being quiet during exam times. I can definitely handle the hot German boyfriend staying over. I wonder if he does nudie dashes from the shower too?

Really, I have nothing to be worried about. Big Brother, I think I’m ready to go into the house.