Leaving Home

The three-room HDB flat housed a large family.

For years, I slept on a mattress in the living room.

In my twenties, I decided to move out.

I wanted a bed of my own.

I wanted freedom.

I wanted to do as I pleased without my mother always checking on me and nagging me.

My mother was deeply upset.

At that time, I could not understand why.

Perhaps she felt she had failed me as a mother.

Perhaps she was simply sad to see her son leave home.

I moved into a colonial house at 10 Flanders Court, Woking Road.

Built in the 1930s, it was the most beautiful home I had ever lived in.

The rooms were spacious.

The ceilings were high.

There was a long balcony and a giant bathtub.

The neighbour played the piano, and birds sang in the trees.

It felt like luxury beyond anything I had known.

A year later, after I got married and moved into my own HDB flat, I said goodbye to that house as well.

Today, I realize that freedom comes with a price.

Away from home, I was no longer under my mother's watchful eye.

I was free to make my own choices, including the wrong ones.

The temptations of the world were stronger than I had imagined.

Looking back, I understand my mother's sadness a little better.

Growing up begins when we leave home, but wisdom comes when we understand why home mattered.