When I moved out of my mother’s house to live on my own nearly three years ago, I didn’t really know what I was doing or how I was going to do it. But I knew that I was going to DO IT. There was no question about it.
I remember Papa telling me after graduation, “It’s better to know where you want to go and not know how to get there than knowing how but not knowing where.” Badly paraphrased, I’m sorry. But that was the idea. I kept those words in my heart the whole time and just bent my neck and just did it.
Today, I find myself in a similar situation. It’s moving time again, but this time, no more subsidies from my Stepfather. I am moving in with friends and this is the first time I’ll be in a paying-housemate situation. I am nervous-scared about it, but more excited.
The truth is, I don’t have that much to my name. My salary has only risen by five grand since I first started working, and boy, that really isn’t much. However, I have the support of my sister — in more ways than one — and I have learned a tremendous amount of things in the last three years that I’ve lived away from home.
When Bajoy and I were looking for an apartment, it was really slim pickings. I asked my sister what strategy I should have when looking for a place. “Ate, should I feel excited about a certain apartment or just be ok with what I think is liveable?” She said it should feel right.
This apartment feels right. I cannot think of any other place I would like to live. And so even if paying the rent means I’ll really have to tighten my belt, and there’s still this 3rd housemate situation to sort out, I am really not letting go of that apartment as long as I can help it.
I don’t pray too often (but in my defense, I can say that I have always been as kind and decent a person I can be), but these days, I’ve really, really been praying.
Lord, please, this is what I want.
