Paul Theroux made me do it...

It's final, I'm no longer under the same roof as my parents. After spending the last 23 years of my life living with my family, I finally decided to claim my independence and move out of the house.

It was not a thrilling idea, nor an easy decision. Contrary to what my parents thought, I spent a month thinking about the big move. The decision was triggered by a discussion I had with my younger brother and it made me realize that the time was ripe for change.

I will be turning 24 in less than 3 months and I have long been contemplating of getting a state-funded international scholarship. If I pass, I will be out of Manila and into another country's capital, struggling with whatever foreign language exists.

Moving out is preparing for better things.

In an interview with Paul Theroux by The Atlantic in 2008, he was asked what's his advice for young budding writers, Theroux said: "Notice how many of the Olympic athletes effusively thanked their mothers for their success? “She drove me to my practice at four in the morning,” etc. Writing is not figure skating or skiing. Your mother will not make you a writer. My advice to any young person who wants to write is: leave home." (Read: Fiction in the Age of E-books)

(It was weird how he used figure skating as an example when I am obsessed with the same sport.)

When I told Cris about my leaving the house (She's also scheduled to move out of her parent's place soon), I told her about Paul Theroux and she laughed and said: "I could have told you the same thing."

A week after the move, I got a bit depressed because I was alone, surrounded by people I do not even know by name or face. I had to cook my own food, do my own laundry--I even have to buy the littlest things I need!

Suffering is the price of independence.

Almost done with my second week, I'm every bit tempted to go home and spend the weekend in my pink-washed room, watching the familiar plain ceiling. I miss my books, my cluttered shelves, my DVDs, my magazines, my free 24/7 internet access.

But then, if everything was so easy for this move, I should have just stayed home, right? Alone in my scanty room, I get to write as much as I like, I feel the need to go out once in awhile, I'm not as laid-back as I used to be. Spontaneous, yes. But more cautious. I changed.

Away from home, I get a clear image of what I want. After years of scouting for my ideal workplace, I have finally found it. I'm still a long way before I'm good enough for that company but I'm gonna go ahead and try. After all, what else would I lose?

I fondly call my room the "budding poor writer's room." I saw it once and got smitten and paid the rent and stayed. I imagined myself drinking vodka in the dead of night, windows opened wide, typing endlessly in my laptop. I like it for one thing: the nailed to the wall two-layered blue book rack. It's almost the same as the one I have at home.

Books, I found out, are my biggest weaknesses. As long as my books have a spot in the place I'll occupy, I'm fine with a mattress-less jurassic bed and some creaking hinges.

In another interview, Paul Theroux said travel can be hard and difficult. "But very rewarding. You don’t want to suffer. But it helps if you’re writing about it." (Read: Finding your place)

I'm in one of Manila's famous districts, where students fill the dimly-lit alleyways, where needs are a stone's throw away, where possibilities--good and bad--lie in every corner. I'm in Old Manila, I'm supposed to suffer.

Away from home, I feel like travelling. My bags are always packed, ready for the next moving. I thought of laying it out on the other bed (my room's good for two). But then, I don't want to get too attached to a place I will leave again someday, when I can do other better things. Like write.

In the end, I let them stay inside their bags, neatly folded and bundled. After all, I have the rest of my life unpacking them. For now, I do what I love most: write.