As a woman in her thirties who’s done her time both as an adult child living with her parents and as a gloriously free (and occasionally hungry) solo dweller, I’m here to tell you: living alone is the soft launch of your main character era. No, not the polished kind that influencers show you. The gritty version made by Anurag Kashyap.
In India (and among desi families abroad), it’s still pretty common to live with your parents until you’re married or forcibly kicked out by a job in another city. And honestly, it makes sense. Free rent, home-cooked food, and someone constantly yelling “dinner’s ready!” like you’re royalty. Sure, more people are moving out for jobs these days – progress! But the numbers are still not nearly enough, if you ask me.
And look, don’t get me wrong – I’m not here to hate on parents. I love mine. I moved back in with them during the pandemic and for four years, I was pampered, well-fed, and surrounded by the soothing hum of a home theatre system that played in the background like a lullaby for grown-ups. Bliss, right?
Wrong. Well temporarily right until it wasn’t.
You see, comfort is sneaky. It slides into your life and before you know it, you’re thirty, forgetting how to cook rice, and asking your mom where she keeps the turmeric.
I Know People Who Say, “I Wish I Could Go Back to School.” I Say: NEVER.
Honestly, I had a great childhood – shoutout to cartoons, summer holidays, and not paying rent – but kids don’t get to make decisions. And when they do, it’s about whether they want strawberry or chocolate milk, and even that’s subject to approval.
The best part about being an adult (besides ordering fries as a main and not a side) is that your decisions finally matter. You get to make them – from what job to take, to whether you want to eat carrots for a week and call it a detox.
You earn the right to screw up spectacularly and learn from it. And yes, money helps. Money makes your decisions louder. More dramatic. Like adding background music to a breakup scene.
And the biggest, boldest, most badass decision you can make as a grown-up?
Moving out.
Growing up, I always heard the phrase: “This is my house. If you live in my house and don’t earn, you live by my rules.” Sound familiar? It’s practically the national slogan. Now, while that sounds harsh (and mildly dictatorial), it taught me something priceless: the value of money and the deep, burning desire to be the boss of my own Netflix password.
Why Living Alone Deserves an Award (Preferably in the Form of Wine)
As an only girl child of Indian parents in the UAE, I often say the UAE is like a golden cage. Gorgeous, shiny, and extremely safe. But I wanted more. I wanted to be a working, independent woman. (Before I realized hustle culture is just capitalism in yoga pants.)
So I moved. Eventually. And then – I moved back. And then – I moved again.
Back and forth like a Netflix show with too many seasons.
After the pandemic, I moved back home. It was great for a while. But when I packed my bags and moved to Vienna to pursue an MBA (fancy, right?), I was once again struck by a powerful realization:
We get used to luxury. Fast. Like, really fast.
I went from a full kitchen, a private bathroom, a home theatre, and a constantly stocked fridge to – well – silence. And admin work of moving to a whole new country. And cooking. And laundry that didn’t magically fold itself. And bills.
But here’s the thing: I loved it.
Because that’s the thing about living alone – you meet the version of yourself who knows how to survive.
Something that nobody tells you about living alone?
You’re not answerable to anyone anymore. Which is amazing… and dangerous.
You can bed rot for hours. You can start a diet made entirely of chips and despair. You can wear the same t-shirt for 3 days. No one is there to stop you. No one is there to save you either.
You are now the CEO of your own ‘Questionable Life Choices’
It’s not just about learning how to do your laundry. It’s about learning who you are when no one’s watching.
When no one’s picking up after you or reminding you of your appointments.
It’s terrifying. And it’s freeing.
Living alone will humble you, scare you, confuse you, and empower you. It will teach you how much mental effort goes into just existing. It’s not for everyone – but it should be.
It forces you to grow up fast. But more than that, it makes you aware. Aware of your habits, your coping mechanisms, your limits, and your strengths. You become your own fallback plan- and that, my friends, is a beautiful (and often hilarious) thing.
TL;DR:
Move out. Live alone. Mess up. Make weird salads. Cry over your IKEA shelf. Dance in your underwear. Discover that you’re both the hero and the unpaid intern of your own life.
It’ll suck sometimes. But it’ll be the best thing you ever do.
PopcornAndPassport 
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