I am one of those people who were raised well. You know, make your bed when you have visitors (even though they won’t be chilling in your room, in fact, your own friends weren’t even allowed in your room). Politely greet guests then leave the room for “adults to talk, but don’t wander too far because you’ll be needed to serve the guests one thing or the other. And when you get into fights (which is forbidden), don’t abuse your peers’ parents or whatever disability they have. I was on my way to being a proper gentleman, all humble and shit.
Then I grew up.
And realized that the world doesn’t give a single fuck about your gentleness or humility. Nice guys finish last (and no, they don’t save the best for last). Pinyni idakie gi wang matek. If you don’t blow your own trumpet, nobody will. They’re busy blowing theirs. So your trumpet will stay in the corner, gathering cobwebs and dust while less talented people with enough courage and impatience overrun you.
I mean, couples cohabit for two months and start YouTube channels to dish out relationship goals and advice. My parents have been together for over 28 years and not once have I heard them dish out relationship advice. Not even to the one of us who’s the only married sibling. They simply tell her their door is always open to her if things don’t work out. Girls learn how to perfectly draw their eyebrows and become Instagram makeup artists. Boys win a game of FIFA and suddenly turn into football scouts ranting on social media about which players their favorite clubs should sign up. Tweeps reach 1000 followers and “digital marketer” goes up on their Twitter bios. Our government… never mind, you already get the point. Skills and talent don’t determine your area of expertise, your (bloated) ego does.
So I have also decided to blow my own trumpet. I am becoming an expert at something. I recently moved out, so I’m going to become a moving out expert. I am going to talk about moving out. And you are going to sit your ass down and listen to me. I don’t care whether you moved out 50 years ago or the moment you got out of your mother’s womb. You had your chance, homie.
Side note: If you’re planning to move out, you might need to really pay attention. This is a moving out expert speaking, remember that! You might actually find this useful. Keyword: MIGHT.
You see, the most important aspect of moving out is preparing to move out. You don’t just wake up one day and decide that you need some space to walk around in your boxers. It doesn’t matter how many internet strangers you see saying that at 20, you’re too old to be leaving your pubes in your mother’s soap. Because the same internet idiots will tell you that only an idiot leaves the soft life of his father’s house for a life of indomie, weed, cheap liquor, and tap water. It also doesn’t matter how many times your dad wakes you up at 6 am to iron his work clothes when you’ve told him that you prefer ironing before going to bed. Or how many times your girlfriend tells you that she’s tired of sneaking in for a quickie when your mom goes for her chamaa meetings. We understand that she needs proper pounding and cuddling afterwards, but let her find those elsewhere. No kingdom has ever been built by one man. Mtaachana tu after all. It’s a double tragedy to have an empty heart and equally empty pockets.
The bottom line is this. If you cannot withstand the pressure to stay grounded until you can fend for yourself, then you’re not ready for the pressure of having to take care of yourself in this ruthless world where everyone wants to make a meal of you. Stay home!
One more thing, you know that thing where they tell you that you’ll attract hoes once you’re out on your own? That hoes love independent men, no matter how much you’re struggling? That in fact, the struggle makes you more manly and attractive? Well, they lied. Hoes want a soft life too. It’s the same as when they told you in high school that you should focus on your books because you’ll get an All-Access VIP Pass to boobs and ass in university. Nothing but a wild myth. If you’re unable to get hoes while in your father’s house, you’re not getting any on your own.
So don’t rush anything. Save some money. Take time to look around for a house you can easily afford (you’ll be surprised at how much of a good deal you can get if you aren’t in a hurry). Nunua vitu polepole, but stick to the essentials. Make a list if you have to. You don’t want to be owning a home theatre while texting your friend to ask him if his girl cooked something you can go over for.
And for fuck’s sake, learn how to cook. You don’t want to be falling in love with a community project just because she made you pancakes for breakfast.
One last thing, remember at the beginning when I said that the most important aspect of moving out is preparing to move out? Scratch that. It’s the second most important aspect of moving out. The most important aspect of moving out is staying moved out. Two months out and I already want to move back in with my folks.
I guess that means I am not an expert in moving out. See you when I discover my next area of expertise.
PS: Ukilemewa usiogope kurudi kwa wazazi unless walikufukuza. In that case, strong bro!
PS 2: If we get a female expert on moving out, then we’ll have a ladies’ version of this post detailing their experience. We are not male feminists to pretend we have an idea of how women live or should live their lives. For the hobosexuals who moved straight from their father’s house to their hubby’s house, you’re also welcome to give your side of the story. This is a Zero Tolerance on Discrimination zone.