Home vs. University

As a final year undergraduate, I've learnt the pros and cons of living out at University.

Being a fresher it was all about THE FREEDOM! Not living with the parents!? Had the dream finally arrived??? It was very exciting at the time. Our lives had all of a sudden taken a complete turn and from out of no-where we were the ones making the decisions. No-one to answer to. No-one to have to listen to. Doing whatever we wanted. And in place of our biological families, we created our own University, social families. Our housemates, neighbours, coursemates - even randoms we met on the street - all became our brand new family. That family (though we didn't realise at the time) we still needed so much.

I'd say it took me about a month to think about coming back home. It took me a year to realise how much I had actually missed it.

By the time I was in second year I knew what I was doing. Well, at least I thought I did.
First year had been a non-stop whirl of excitement and exhilaration, but I had still learnt a lot. Academically, yes (that's right, even first years do have to do some work), but also socially and emotionally. I realised that in order to achieve that happy medium of getting the most out of Uni life without wanting to tear my hair out seven weeks into term, I needed my home time. And I swear to God, those outbursts do happen. I've seen it from the very early stages of twitches in someone's eye when they see a kitchen covered in dirty washing, to the full blown explosive cry for rescue.

I don't want to paint a picture of students sitting around in their own mess depressed because they're too lazy to reach for the hoover, but there are some home comforts that University living just can't replace.

I'm home for the weekend at the moment and even now, I still notice things I miss.
Home-cooked meals, a dishwasher, actually being warm, the lack of alcohol litter, the lack of mould, the lack of maggots (wow it gets worse as I go along doesn't it), my cat, a bedroom I have space to dance in, a comfortable mattress which doesn't incur back spasms...

Saying that, twenty-four hours after I'd arrived, I could already see signs of potential bickering with the parents. There is that very distinct, strangely unfamiliar and inevitably sad feeling that, in some way, this home is perhaps not your home anymore. That's not to say my home in London doesn't still feel homely. I know it will always be a home - I've lived there all my life - but it does more feel like the parents' house now.

I remember the first time I came back when I had just started Uni, I didn't know what to do with myself and while that feeling has lessened over time, there is still that notion that this house belongs to my parents, not me. Perhaps it's because I've learnt what it's like to have to pay rent and bills, that sense of responsibility, of ownership. For some people that might be a complete turn off, but  for me, it's actually been a surge of motivation to have a place of my own sooner rather than later.

Living out at University, while it does bring with it all the stereotypical student traits, is an amazing way to learn so much about, well, living. Life. You realise what it's like to have to stand on your own two feet. To do things for yourself - and work out how to fix it when you haven't taken the right choice.

I was always adamant that I was going to move out when I was eighteen for University.
I did it, I recommend it a thousand times over and I'll never look back.

Just make sure you pop home every month or two so you don't forget what it's like to live with central heating.