Moving out

So the summer is finally here. I’m sitting in my veranda, with the window opened and felling the breeze. It’s not good for the beach, yet, but it’s hot enough for me to feel good.
I don’t really get it: How can someone, that likes this weather so much, be so sure that London is the right place for him?

I mean... the weather there is famous for being bad. It rains almost all year... and yet I’m positive that I’ll like it there when (if) I move there.

I’m starting to think that maybe it has to do with moving out. Don’t get me wrong, I like my parents, they’re excellent, but I feel I need my own space, my own house, and stop having to inform everybody where I’m going or when I’m I coming back home.

It’s not that I don’t have the freedom to go wherever I want whenever I want, but I do feel the obligation to warn if I’m staying the night out... and the part of not being able to stay home alone is really annoying. I like to spend time alone, seeing films, or reading books... or even writing... but I find it very difficult to have those “off” times, without upsetting my parents, because if I stay in my room they’ll think that something is wrong with me... I’m probably sad, or something... The reality is I’m not (well, most of the times I’m not).

And I think that the only true way of getting out of the house without insulting anyone is by moving to another country, because, if I move out to an apartment just a few kilometres from here... I fear that my parents will be insulted, and probably worried...

So I have to choose a city to live other than Lisbon... at least for a couple of years... because I do think I can buy my own apartment without leaving anyone sad, when I get back from abroad.

And of course, I also really want to live in London.... for me (and forgive me New Yorkers) the capital of the world. The city that breads culture, that’s inter everything...