Inspired by an experience

House For One

Living alone. Those two words seem to inspire fear in any student. For many, leaving the comfort of home in first year is a hard enough change to adjust to, and sibling jealousy develops just because the one still there gets proper hearty food and their laundry done for them. It’s something taken for granted pre-university, as well as always having someone to go running to when you need change for the bus, or to help explain how you claim your tax back without resorting to the internet. For the majority of students though, this dependency shifts when the nest has been flown, either onto new flatmates, a boy/girlfriend, or in my case - myself.

I’ve always been pretty independent, I had a job at sixteen, was driving at seventeen and had been in a three year relationship at eighteen, so for me uni was the new start, the real deal. But when two weeks in, I had no car to travel wherever I pleased, couldn’t get a job for love or money and had finished with the boyfriend who was holding me back, I was hit with the realisation that this was it.

The novelty of a student loan to spend and going out drinking every night had worn off; and I was burnt out, bored and craving a challenge. At home I was always busy, so being resigned to a bedroom, corridor and kitchen that I had to share with six others was like putting a hamster in a ball - I could wander around, but ultimately, I felt trapped.

Rather than solve the problem in a drastic manner that required maximum effort (I am still a student after all) I tried a few different things to sate my desire for more. I joined the theatre group, and performed in ’Twelfth Night’. I made friends, filled my time with rehearsals and line-learning and fed the exhibitionist in me by appearing on stage for two nights. And that was it. After a hectic eight week whirlwind, it was all over, and I returned to the drudgery of a three room world where getting a takeaway was an event.

So I tried the next thing. I’ve always been into fashion, and had found a kindred spirit in my boyfriend’s flatmate, so we started the idea of creating a fashion society. After all the formalities, LUFS was set up, and soon we had 38 members, a trip to The Clothes Show planned, and a magazine in production. One thing I hadn’t realised though was how much work running a society was. Handling an email account, running meetings, organising socials and prepping a publication with just two people was a nightmare, and ridiculously time consuming. Exec members changed with the wind once they realised how big a commitment it was, and funds were tight. I began regretting setting myself such a demanding task, and relished the snatched hours I had to watch rubbish TV, and bake fairy cakes.

Then the biggest opportunity reared its head - living alone in third year. Having lived in a house of twelve previously it would be a massive adjustment. My parents had bought a house, with the premise of renting it out, but it had space for four, and we were a group of six. Six people with a bickered division that meant we were split into two threes, and there were no houses for three. My boyfriend was the first to go, having been offered a space with four other guys. Then a house for four was found, leaving one left over. At the prospect of living sans rent for a year, I jumped ship and offered to settle the problem.

When I started telling people, the reactions were laughable.

“You’re living on your own? Like completely?”

“Alone? But…why?”

“Oh my god, did no one want to live with you?”

I found it astonishing that people just couldn’t comprehend. The number of times I explained the situation only to be faced with a blank stare was ridiculous. What did all these people intend on doing after university? Live with their parents their whole lives, or wait patiently until a relationship got serious enough to get a mortgage and settle down? I felt quite capable of managing a house by myself, and thought that at worst it would mean less distraction from the dreaded dissertation.

I spent my summer choosing paint colours and bedspreads, making cushion covers and tie-backs, and choosing wallpaper for my feature wall; I loved it. I changed an empty magnolia shell into my own house, where unlike a typical student residence, the kitchen sides were visible and I had more than one cupboard for my clothes.

As the holidays dragged to an end, I was excited to move in and start my new venture. I had visions of sitting on the lounge floor surrounded by Vogue magazines with no one to complain about it, and eating at a real table because - shock horror - I had a dining room. Term started, and I looked forward to the end of the day, so I could go home to my own space, where I appreciated watching rubbish TV as I had paid for the license, and if I baked fairycakes they weren’t all gone the next time I came downstairs.

Slowly but surely, people turned. “Oh my god, you’re so lucky having this all to yourself!”

“This is like a real grown-up house.”

“It’s so nice and clean!”

My boyfriend and I didn’t have to go to our rooms to escape everyone, and my friends asked to have parties at mine so they didn’t have to annoy their housemates.

So sure, I have to remember to put the bins out, and I’m the one who has to get up early to let the gas man in. There’s just me to de-grease the oven, and it’s only my fault if I forget to lock the door. But I’ve not died of loneliness. I don’t think every creak of the gate is a burglar coming to get me. I’m more than happy in my pretty little house. Where just I live. Alone.