There is something strange about boys leaving home.
They leave because they have to. Sometimes for a job, sometimes for studies, sometimes because they want to build a life of their own.
And everyone is happy for them.
They are growing up. They are becoming independent. They are starting to make their own money and take their own decisions.
Nobody really talks about the other part.
They leave behind a home where food somehow appeared when they were hungry.
Their mother knew when they had not eaten properly.
Someone would notice if they were sick, ask why they were quiet, knock on their door.
Then one day, they have their own room in another city.
The room is theirs, but it feels different.
After spending the entire day working, dealing with people, travelling, worrying about money and thinking about a hundred other things, they come back completely exhausted.
There is nobody waiting.
There is no food that somebody made for them.
There is no one asking, “Did you eat?”
They open the door, put their things down and somehow keep going.
Even being sick becomes something they have to manage themselves.
A fever means finding medicine.
Hunger means making something or ordering something.
A bad day means going to bed and hoping tomorrow feels a little better.
And sometimes the hardest part isn’t any of these things.
It is the phone call home.
Mom asks, “Are you okay?”
And the answer comes almost automatically.
“Yes, Mom. I’m fine.”
Even when you’re not.
Because what are you supposed to say?
That you’re tired?
That you haven’t eaten properly?
That you’ve been thinking about home all day?
That you don’t know if you are doing any of this right?
Maybe you don’t want her to worry.
Maybe you don’t want to sound weak.
Or maybe you have simply become used to saying that everything is fine.
I think this is one of the strange things that happens when boys leave home.
They become responsible for everyone else and slowly become irresponsible about themselves.
They will remember to send money home.
They will worry about their parents.
They will think about what their family needs next month.
They will work even when they are tired.
But they will forget to eat lunch.
They will keep postponing that doctor’s appointment.
They will ignore a headache for three days.
They will sleep badly and call it normal.
They will be hurting and still say they are fine.
Not because they don’t care about themselves.
I think sometimes they simply don’t know how to do it anymore.
At home, taking care of yourself was never something you had to think about.
Someone else was always doing little things for you.
You didn’t notice them because they were ordinary.
A plate of food.
A glass of water.
A reminder to take medicine.
Someone asking why you came home so late.
You only understand how much those little things meant when nobody is doing them anymore.
And maybe that is why some boys don’t really talk about how much they miss home.
They don’t necessarily miss the house.
They miss being someone’s son.
They miss being able to come home tired and not have to explain anything.
They miss having someone notice.
I think there is another part of this that I am still trying to understand in myself.
I hate that I still feel guilty whenever someone tries to make an effort for me.
Even when someone is simply trying to take care of me or do something kind for me, I feel uncomfortable.
I immediately feel like I need to pay them back.
Not because I don’t want to.
Not because I can’t.
I just feel guilty.
I am trying to understand my own worth, but at the same time, I still don’t know how to receive kindness and care without feeling bad about it.
I don’t want to burden anyone anymore.
Maybe that is part of what happens when you get too used to handling things yourself.
You start thinking that needing something from someone else is a problem.
Even now, I sometimes feel guilty when I spend money on something expensive that I have wanted for a long time.
It is my own hard-earned money.
I worked for it.
I can afford it.
And still, there is this little feeling that tells me I am being selfish for buying something for myself.
I don’t think that feeling makes much sense.
But knowing that doesn’t automatically make it disappear.
Maybe I am still learning that taking care of myself doesn’t mean I am taking something away from someone else.
Maybe I am still learning that someone doing something kind for me doesn’t always mean I owe them something in return.
Maybe I am still learning how to receive.
We often talk about boys leaving home as if the difficult part is simply becoming independent.
Get a job. Earn money. Take responsibility. Build your future.
And yes, all of that matters.
But independence also means learning to look after the person who is doing all of that.
The person who gets sick.
The person who gets tired.
The person who sometimes doesn’t know what to do.
The person who keeps saying, “I’m fine.”
Maybe boys need to learn that too.
Not because someone told them to.
Just because nobody else may be there to remind them.
I should probably say something here because I know someone will think about it.
I’m only talking about boys because I’m one of them.
I’m not saying girls don’t go through the same things. They do, and I have no intention of degrading or dismissing anyone who has had to leave home, take responsibility and learn to take care of themselves.
I just don’t write for everyone.
I write about what I go through, what I have gone through and the things I notice around me.
This is one of those things.
I am writing about boys because I know what it feels like to be one of them.
I don’t know if boys ever completely get used to being away from home.
Maybe they do.
Maybe they just get better at hiding how much they miss it.
But I do know that there are boys living in rooms far away from where they grew up, eating whatever they can find, working through tiredness, dealing with their problems quietly and telling their mothers over the phone that everything is fine.
They are building something.
A career. A life. A future. Maybe one day, a home of their own.
And somewhere in all of that, they are also learning something that nobody really teaches them.
How to take care of themselves.
And maybe, just as importantly, how to let someone else take care of them too.
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