Recently, all of us at stripped found ourselves in different living situations (with varying degrees of happiness). So we decided to publish this article together and talk about the good and the bad, the pretty and the very, very ugly (here’s looking at you and your onesie, 10999), of living by yourself, staying with family, sharing an apartment with a roommate and living together as a couple.
The One with Your Own Apartment or: Becoming Carrie Bradshaw
by Shamarka.
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to suddenly be handed the key to your very own apartment, after years and years spent with the most conservative parents on planet Earth? I had been dreaming about this moment almost all my life. And after an eternity of “Get back home at 10.30 pm.” and “But mom, I’m 20…” or “I don’t care you’ve been dating this guy for 2 years now, he is not allowed to spend the night!”, I finally got to move out and get drunk on my newfound freedom.
I started with decorating my flat the way I wanted – a bit girly, a touch of trashy elegance and a slightly bigger touch of wine and gin bottles. Then I continued living in something that feels like a scene from “Sex and the City”. I can throw parties whenever I want and pick the music from my CD collection or spread out a yoga mat on the balcony and try to get a tan in October (Don’t try it. You’ll get sick and look as pale as vampire-Robert Pattinson). The huge empty closet on my own means I am always tempted to waste my money on clothes although, sadly, I cannot afford several pairs of Manolo Blahnik shoes as Carrie Bradshaw does. Last but not least – I can always invite my boyfriend over and ask him to spend the night without fearing that my parents might hear him while he is sneaking out at 5 am.
On the other side, there are things that have probably never happened and will never happen to a self-respecting adult. After cooking a meal on a Sunday (the only day I actually have time to prepare a proper meal for myself), I usually let it lead a life of its own in the fridge until I decide to eat it a few days (or weeks) later. Then, there are these dark times when I enter an exam period at uni – for my cute, usually clean apartment this means books and paperwork (and unwashed clothes) all over the place, an inch of dust on every surface and, of course, my poor plants deceasing on the balcony.
All in all, living alone has its both sides, glamorous and scary. And although I would not replace being able to invite people over at any time and the opportunity to poop with the door open (please don’t judge me, I bet all of you have done it at some point) for anything in this whole wide world, I will never ignore a call from my mum, asking me to come over for a freshly prepared dinner.
stripped 