When I Move, This Is What I’m Getting Rid Of

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Finally, I’m taking a big step forward in my life – after years of living with roommates, I’m moving to my own apartment. It will be but a humble little studio apartment, sparse with amenities, in a less hip neighborhood.

But so much has transpired in the past ten months that has made living alone an option. Or namely, it boils down to two things: I switched jobs, and I got promoted. Here’s a provocatively-titled article that corroborates my case: Employees Who Stay In Companies Longer Than Two Years Get Paid 50% Less. (Get on it!)

There’s just so much to look forward to now. The beautiful things I will now have the wherewithal to own, the liberty to do what I want with my pants the minute I step into my abode… it’s quite wonderful.

Yet there are things that I have to leave behind: some I’m sad about growing out of, others I wonder what took me so long to get rid of.

Like my grey skirt suit.

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Not actually mine, image from here

This was my interview garb in college. The grey skirt suit was actually an upgrade from my previous black pantsuit – I thought it would serve me well to veer away from looking like a banquet waiter. How flattering, I thought to myself, the skirt suit is for my figure. Surely it will make me look like a powerful yet feminine woman! Especially when I’m making the rounds interviewing at accounting firms (I double majored in marketing and accounting) – surely they would be impressed.

Barf. How far from the path I had strayed. I can’t say I see myself interviewing for a job in the future that necessitates complete erasure of my style and personality, and so I donated my skirt suit to The Salvation Army. May an un- or underemployed soul benefit from it!

I’m also tossing out this half-used bottle of purple hair dye.

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Tragic, I know. I am in my mid-twenties now… will people take a girl with purple hair seriously?

Don’t you trust the woman on the right to take care of your shit so much more?

I’m kidding. I never thought my hair color was discrediting, and certainly not in the supportive environment I work in. I cut it off because my bleached ends were getting real crispy. And pastel hair is kind of outmoded in 2016, anyway.

All (but one) of these bottles of liquor belong to me.

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Check out that handle of whiskey I’m almost done with

At the height of my college days, I used to throw house parties in my sweet little East Village dig and did my best to make sure no one was thirsty. Nowadays, a glass of wine is enough to get me tipsy. I have encountered the two-day hangover. I am aging! And the joys of liquor aren’t nearly as appealing anymore.

What am I going to do with all these bottles of hard liquor? I was considering leaving them on my stoop for the homeless guy who posts up there at night… then was talked out of it by my boyfriend who sees dozens of drunk homeless people lifelessly dragged into his ER. Oh well.

I am not putting up with three-tined forks.

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This fork is part of an IKEA set of cutlery that was the cheapest darn set to buy. It’s so cheap that they don’t even sell it anymore; I think it was $3.95 for a 16-piece set. Apart from the cost-cutting by reducing the number of tines, it was also just really cheaply-made stamped metal. I’ve bent just about all the teaspoons when I rammed it into pints of Ben & Jerry’s.

I think I’m going to get a set of copper-hued flatware… which would go nicely with my future marble dining table. #foodiephotos

I just wish I were getting married, so I can have other people pay for all of this stuff for me. Are there registries for “I’m ditching roommates” registry or “I’m getting divorced”? Totally legit reasons to have a registry! They can then come to my housewarming party and admire all the beautiful things they contributed to.

If you think about it, getting your own place is definitely a privilege and not a natural rite of passage for most people…

These pictures won’t go with my desired aesthetic anymore.

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These might be the things I am least wont to give up, since they do carry some meaning for me. As a freshman in college, I was hugely depressed and unhappy. I did not fit in, I did not understand American people  – it was quite the culture shock. I’ve learned so much in my 7 years here – mud butt, Monday night quarterbacking, nosebleed seats, fupa… Toilet humor and sports analogies are courtesy of my beloved American-blooded bro.

About those pictures – work on some of your hobbies, my sister said. I bought a few tubes of paint and got to work. I was pleasantly surprised by my experiment in sponging streaks of paint. But I’m not sure these bright colors are going to work with the aesthetic I’m hoping for…

This is what I want.

[Sources, clockwise from top left: 1, 2, 3, 4)

Do you see a spot of color in these rooms? Nope.

All that’s said and done, I am literally counting down the days till I get to move in and get to feel so free in spirit but much poorer in the bank account. Viva la liberte!

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The Author

Singaporean in NYC, analyzing relationships with a boozy brownie in hand.

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