If I were born American, I’d probably be kicked out of my parents home six years ago. Hah. I’m lucky I grew up in the Philippines–a land where mothers and fathers keep their offspring until they’re practically wrinkly and toothless.
For years, I’ve been used to being fed, roofed, and cared for by my parents. We may have our fair share of misunderstandings but I’m always the one who raises the white flag. After all, it’s their rules and conditions that always must matter in the household.
I’ve thought of moving out a number of times. You know, those times I’d feel I’m being leashed inside my own house. I’m an adult, I’d say. But I’ve never really made a move to pack up and go. I couldn’t. My heart wages no.
But yesterday, I’ve finally decided to jump into something I’ve been planning for more than a year. And boy, was it the biggest, most crazy-scary decision I have made in my life so far.
I have less than 9 weeks to bid my family and friends goodbye. Temporarily, of course, if everything goes according to plan.
Yep, March is the new New Year for me.
P.S. Blog title is borrowed from a colleague’s Tweet. He couldn’t have coined it better. Thanks, Arj.