Something to prove

Something to prove

As of this morning, I am officially broke.
My savings for my supposed Puerto Galera trip this October have evaporated. Payday isn’t until the 29th or 30th, which means that in order to pay my electric bill on Friday, I’ll have to forego picking up my laundry (and thus paying for it) until I get my salary.
And dinner? Forget about it—the only food I have at home is a pack of Skyflakes, which I’m thriftily eating only two at a time so it’ll last longer. I could only eat at the office, where the food I buy is salary-deductible, thank Glob.

This is just me feeling sorry for myself, and I hate myself for it even more, because I brought this all onto myself.
I come from a middle-class family: my mom can definitely support my basic needs if only I had stayed at home. So why did I leave and subject myself to this hell?

A lot of people don’t understand why I moved out.

In fact, when I tell them what I have to do to get by, they think I’m being stupid. I left the comforts of home—fast Internet, food in abundance, no money spent for utilities and rent—to go hungry, curse at my slow WiFi, and constantly worry about my bank balance. There seems to be no logic in it at all.

However, my reason is quite simple: I have something to prove.

Growing up, material things were handed to me on a silver platter. I went to good schools, had money to spend on expensive clothes and food… I never really had to worry about finances. Even in college, when I was constantly borrowing cash, I always knew that it wasn’t that big of a deal because I was using that money to buy stuff I didn’t really need, like books.
Ever since I could remember, I dreamt of moving out. When I told my mom this, she laughed and told me I wouldn’t last, because I spent too much money and I was too soft and lazy to make it. Stubborn and proud as always, I resolved to prove that I could be independent.
I’m putting myself through the wringer so I could grow up. I wanted to give myself the responsibility of paying bills and living alone, so I could realize the value of money and hard work. It was a challenge: having been taken care of all my life, I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself. I didn’t want to be the kind of person who has never learned to stand on their own two feet.
So, even though I’m fairly destitute as of the moment and have to pinch pennies for the next few days, I can say I have no regrets. This whole ordeal is teaching me a lot about hard work, managing my finances, and sacrificing what I want for what I need. And that, my friend, is pretty priceless.

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