“You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you, and decide where they grow.”
– Swedish writer, Henning Mankell
IN many Western cultures, leaving the family home by the age of 18 is almost a rite of passage.
It’s seen as the moment one steps into adulthood, a symbol of independence and responsibility.
Whether driven by the desire to attend college, pursue a career, or simply for the sake of freedom, the tradition of moving out is an expectation that’s woven into the fabric of growing up.
This move marks the beginning of adulthood, where young people are encouraged to become self-sufficient and carve their paths, often away from their parents’ influence.
But for many, especially those raised in Asian cultures, this tradition doesn’t hold the same weight.
Moving out at 18 is quite foreign in many Asian families.
Staying at home until one gets married is not only common but also expected.
The concept of “leaving the nest” early is almost unheard of.
Family bonds are incredibly strong, and living with parents is seen not just as a way to maintain those ties but also as a source of mutual support, love and care.
In these cultures, a young adult’s journey toward independence often occurs in a very different way.
Marriage is typically the milestone when individuals are expected to move out and establish their household.
The family unit remains intact long after a child reaches adulthood, and independence is understood to come at a later stage in life.
For me, moving out at 28 was a unique journey, one that didn’t follow the usual script of either Western or traditional Asian expectations.
I grew up in a close-knit family where living under one roof with my parents and siblings was not only common but also deeply ingrained in our values.
The concept of leaving the family home before marriage was not something I had ever considered.
It wasn’t that I was dependent on my parents, but rather that our culture and way of life celebrated family togetherness.
Moving out didn’t feel like a necessary step in becoming an adult – it wasn’t until I reached a certain stage in my life that I realised I needed to make this change for myself.
While Western culture emphasises the importance of early independence, for me, it was never about rebellion or rushing to grow up.
It was about waiting for the right time to step into my own space.
And that time finally came when my husband and I decided to renovate our place – my parents’ first house, which they bought back in 1995.
The process of moving out wasn’t instant.
It took almost a year for my husband and I to renovate the place we were going to call our own.
This wasn’t a quick move – we had to save up and tackle the renovations bit by bit.
Every weekend, we chipped away at some of the work ourselves.
From painting the walls to installing fixtures, it was a long and exhausting journey.
We balanced our full-time jobs with transforming a space into a warm and functional home.
At times, it felt like an endless cycle of planning, working and saving.
Yet, at every stage, there was a sense of progress, of seeing our vision take shape.
Renovating a home, especially on a budget, isn’t easy.
It was a process of prioritising what we could afford, what we could DIY, and what we needed to save for.
When things got tough, we both, of course, wished we could somehow win the lottery or come across free money to complete the renovation instantly.
But in many ways, this slow and steady approach made the move feel all the more rewarding.
Watching the space evolve and take on its personality was a labour of love.
There was immense pride in knowing that the home we were creating was a reflection of our hard work, dedication, and shared dreams.
It was about building a life together, from the ground up, with our own hands, and doing it in a way that felt authentic to us.
Moving into our newly renovated place, I was overwhelmed with emotions.
On one hand, there was the exhilarating freedom that comes with having our own space.
The ability to make decisions without consulting anyone, to decorate and organise everything just the way I wanted, was incredibly liberating.
The quiet moments of solitude, privacy and peaceful environment that I had always longed for were suddenly within my reach.
There was a sense of self-sufficiency and accomplishment that I had never fully experienced while living under my parents’ roof.
It felt like a significant step forward in my journey, becoming the architect of my life in a way that went beyond physical space.
But on the other hand, there was a sense of longing.
I missed the warmth of family dinners, the laughter that echoed through the house, and the comfort of knowing that my loved ones were just a room away.
The simple pleasures of shared routines, like watching a TV show together or catching up over tea, were no longer part of my daily life.
It’s funny how something so small can leave such a deep void.
The sense of security that came with being surrounded by family was something I took for granted until it was no longer there.
It’s a bittersweet feeling – the sense of freedom mixed with the nostalgia for the comfort and support I had always known.
But over time, I’ve come to realise that the beauty of this transition lies in the balance.
While I embrace the freedom of having my own space, I also recognise that my parents’ home will always be where I can find comfort, solace, and belonging.
The tradition of staying with your family until marriage may be the norm in my culture, but for me, moving out at 28 was a personal choice, a step toward carving out my own identity while still honouring the deep familial connections that are at the core of my upbringing.
Ultimately, this experience has taught me that adulthood doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all timeline.
For some, moving out at 18 might be the natural course; for others, it might come later.
The key is recognising when the time is right for you and making the decision based on your own unique journey.
It’s a reminder that while traditions and cultural expectations play a role in shaping our lives, we must also allow ourselves the space to live and grow at our own pace.
This move was not just about leaving home – it was about growing into my independence, on my terms, while still holding on to the values of family and connection instilled in me from an early age.
The transition may have been difficult at times, but it was worth it, and it’s a reminder that personal growth happens when we embrace change, even if it takes longer than tradition expects.
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at sarahhafizahchandra@gmail.com.
