Dear Six-Year Old Version of Myself: Moving Out

Dear Six-year-old version of myself (aka 6YOVM),

Today marks the first month the roommate and I transferred to a new place. For the most part, the entire experience was liberating! No landladies, no other roommates, no ADMU student-driven cars honking impatiently...

It took us a huge number of days (and an even more huge number of boxes) to pack four years' worth of stuff that we had to take with us.

Packing!

The task was pretty simple in theory. I'm pretty sure its menial and mindless on your end. What could be so hard in:

1. Take stuff
2. Stuff in box
3. Close box
4. Repeat

But, with all honestly, it felt daunting! All the worthless junk that made its way to my possession was staring at me in the face like some puppy-eyed kid your age - cute and tempting but not worth the trouble of taking home for the rest of your life. (No offense meant, 6YOVM!)

Finally, the word hoarding (and the TV series, Hoarders) made sense!

Some of the stuff I had to sift through

And, not to mention the added effort of dragging along those who are not even willing to move in with you. Sure, the books were amenable to change, being the more liberated that they are...

Packing them books!

But, the pigs! Oh, the pigs. There's just no getting over their constant bickering and whining. I even had to gather them together and come up with an impromptu pep talk of some sort just to convince them that the grass is greener on the other side.

Prepping my pigs for the transfer...

...then taking them out for a ride

...but it never dawned on me that pigs do not eat grass. But, I think the sight of the kitchen was all that made them say yes!

THE kitchen!!1!!!one!!1

I have everything to be thankful for in the move, especially now that I'm thrown out into the world with all the worldly responsibilities of an adult living in an adult world. (Yes, I love that word: world) All that I dreamt of as a kid rushing maturity and defying biology just to stay up a little longer after dinner has finally come true!

But, then again, along with that much awaited independence comes a whole new slew of concerns. For one, I don't do my own laundry just because my work does not permit much time for me to do so (slash, I'm too tamad to sacrifice my weekends to attend to it) I have to take it out to the laundry shop every so often lest I opt to go homeless chic (which, at current, is a fashion trend which seemingly has all the right intentions but all the wrong inclinations. Read more here and here).

And, laundry shop equals costs. And, it's not just laundry, anymore. This time:

1. Space equals cost.
2. Food equals costs.
3. Water equals costs.
4. Light equals costs.
   
5. Bear Grylls and Samantha Brown equals costs.
6. Even blogging equals costs!

And costs start to be issues when the resources (aka allowances) are finally choked. So yes, dear 6-year-old version of myself, responsibility, save for being a big word, is not all that exciting.

But, then again, I get to decide on matters that really matter in my life, those that would ultimately decide my fate. I get to take on roles that I never would have even considered doing 16 years ago. And I get to live life to its fullest well beyond the simplicity of patintero and tagu-taguan. Plus, I could have all the ice cream that I want without anyone breathing down my neck. You'll have your time soon enough.

For now, don't rush it. Because, when all has been said and done, most people of my age would kill to go back to yours.