Quarter-Life Crisis
My name is Melissa Maria Lee. I’m a 25-year-old Anglo-Indian full-time student and part-time travel consultant. I have 5 major financial responsibilities to take care of (I.e. phone bill, World Vision Australia sponsorship, annual car registration, a constantly accumulating HECS debt and the $200 monthly contribution to my parents). The rest of what I earn is for me to use at my leisure, whether I choose to shop till I drop or save for a rainy day. In exchange for the $200 monthly contribution, I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach and clean laundry. My chores are to keep my room clean and do the dishes once a week on my day off. Yes!! I am 25.
A lot of people look at my lifestyle and say, “Hey! You have got it so easy. Live with your parents as long as you can!” I agree to an extent that due to my academic endeavours and significantly decreased financial income owing to part-time hours, that yes, living at home allows me to live very comfortably and within my means. But I’m not going to lie to you. I actually HATE (with a passion) living at home. Here’s why. Are you paying attention.?
“PEENNNIIISSS!!”
Great! You were paying attention. This is the fine print. The clause that’s written in size 3 at the bottom of every page, that everyone signs off to without so much as a second thought until they come to a complex crossroad during some point in their life.
Being at home feels more like being in a cage a lot of the time. At 25, I don’t have the luxuries most my age do. I can’t up and go wherever I like, whenever I like. Being of Indian descent means that I must report all whereabouts at all times. I have a curfew on weekdays of 11pm. Not 11.01pm or 11.02pm…just 11pm! On weekends, my parents say that I can come home “at any time. ” Small print moment – ‘anytime,’ also referred to as ‘a decent hour,’ is no later than 4am. Now on occasion, I do get away with arriving well after the sun rises. This is if I am lucky enough to walk through the front door whilst they are so far gone into la-la land that they cannot possibly hear anything come or go.
Next on the list is what happens when I actually do go out. No matter how tired I get or how serious my reason, I am not allowed to ‘sleep-over.’ Especially, if it’s a male friend (i.e. usually they are thinking about a boyfriend). “It would shame the family,” “What would people think?” or “No way in hell!” are the three most common responses that greet me if I ever ask to stay the night out somewhere. I never, ever, EVER ask to stay at a boyfriend’s house. I tried to jokingly ask that one time. It was asked for the absolute last time. Their death stares almost melted through the layers of cosmetic construction on my face. Not a lot can get through that but this could. Yes! I am 25.
The only way around this rule is ‘white-lies’. So I pick their area of weakness and torture them mercilessly. “I have to stay at my friend’s place from class. She’s having our ‘all-girl’ study group over to finish this massive assignment. We have to get this done! We have a major deadline! If I don’t go, it’s as good as a fail!” Bingo!! Works every time! Indian parents love their children to strive for anything academic-related. A small victory but a victory nonetheless.
So $200 is a small price to pay for financial security but a lot to pay to feel imprisoned. So if you ever see me out and about on campus, with my lunchbox packed and labelled, I urge you to please refrain from automatically thinking I have an easy life. It is but a subtle sign of parental control. But then again, I am only 25. Maybe things will be different when I’m 26.
