In grade 12, as I was nearing my high school graduation and preparing to go to the University of Waterloo, moving out from my then-home in Whitby was inevitable. The notion of having my own space and total freedom seemed like a dream come true. Along with it, I had all of these far-fetched ideas of how I would spend my freshman year at university. The Emily of 2012 was someone who neatly packed her embroidered tea towels, china tea set, framed opera posters, and any other dainty lacy thing I had collected over the years, and imagined how I would deck out my new townhouse residence. After spending one day in said residence with my crazy roommates, I decided that living away from home was not for me. In fact, at the end of the first semester, I transferred to Ryerson and spent my time commuting from both my mom’s in Whitby and my dad’s in Toronto.