I moved out of my JB apartment this week. While it was not “my own place” that I paid out of my own pocket for, it was a place I grew up in. Not that same specific room because I moved up from the 12th to the 22nd floor this year.
JB was the first time I moved away from home. I never did boarding school at any point in time though I did get into some. I will never forget moving down for the first time with my brother on one of the Chinese New Year days, his car packed with my things, and crying most of the way. I cried at dinner, I cried at breakfast. I was very emotional about the whole thing.
But I grew up. It was just a time to adjust and to learn to live with people who weren’t my family. I have cooked my own meals and cooked for others. I have spoken to building management by myself. I have attempted to fix many things without the assistance of my mother.
JB was this time of figuring out my own life. I had no one to “depend on”, no one to wake me up to prevent me from oversleeping. I had to learn to want to do my own grocery shopping, and the cleaning of my own bathroom and the apartment.
I grew up a bit during the last two years of clinical school. While I may not be the most mature person my age, I have learned to treasure people better and learned how to figure out how to maintain relationships despite being so far away. I am actually surprised at how often I started speaking to my brother because we both thought the distance would drive us apart.
JB has been good to me and has taught me a lot. While I am glad to be going home for the next eight weeks, a part of me will always be grateful for my time away.