The other day, as I was writing an essay, I found myself overcome with the most intense craving for ice cream. I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to retrieve some Haagen-Dazs from the freezer, only to find that my brother had beat me to it and was sitting on the kitchen counter scraping the last of my ice cream out of the tub. Caught in the act, he shrugged his shoulders and gave his spoon one last satisfied lick.

Containing my irritation, I checked the time. 9pm. I could still make it to the corner shop near my house. Not thinking any more of it, I slipped my shoes on and announced that I was leaving for the store. Immediately I heard footsteps from the living room and saw my Mum storming towards me.

“Where are you going?” she asked, hands on hips. I replied calmly that we had run out of ice-cream, that I was just heading to the store down the road to stock up on supplies.

“It’s too late for you to be out on your own. You can go tomorrow.” I tried protesting but it was no good. I accepted defeat and retreated back to my room to finish my essay, trying to suppress my craving.

Since being at home I’ve had many incidents like this which have served as reminders that I’m back at home with my parents, not at university. I’m nagged at when I don’t make my bed first thing in the morning, told off for playing my music too loud, and badgered for skipping breakfast. In my parent’s house I’m expected to follow their rules.

“I am neither a child, nor to my parents’ understanding, an adult in the proper sense”

At university I could stay up until any hour of the night, binging Netflix without a parent knocking on my door and nagging me to sleep. When I felt I needed to clear my mind I could go on lone walks whenever and wherever I pleased. If I had a spontaneous urge for a snack I could just head to Sainsbury’s and take my pick. When I was in need of an online shopping haul, I ordered whatever I wanted without being subject to disapproving judgement. Even under lockdown restrictions I felt like a free bird; the sky was my only limit.

After moving out for university I came to cherish my independence. Being home for the vacations was bearable because I knew it was only a matter of weeks before I was back in Cambridge. Life at home in those short weeks was also endearing; the overprotectiveness of my parents was wholesome in short bursts.

“Living out at university has been an opportunity to trial various bad habits and independently find my own way of life”

But now I’ve grown frustrated with their prolonged involvement in my everyday decision making. I feel like a teenager again, constantly battling trivial regulations. In reality, I am in a state of limbo: I am neither a child, nor to my parents’ understanding, an adult in the proper sense. Since I’m a student, not a working professional and still dependent on them, I’m still subject to their authority. Despite this, I make the effort to subdue my frustration.

In my teenage years I resisted my parents’ standards, often leading to sessions of venting and acts of open rebellion. I frequently broke the 8pm curfew for parties and would routinely sneak into my parents’ bedroom and take my phone which I was banned from using in the night. Though they are a lot more relaxed now, traces of their strict regulations continue to live on. But now I keep my head down and do as I am told. The simple maturity that has come with being older has meant that I’ve come to understand why their standards exist in the first place. Staying up all night binging TV is not good for my wellbeing; going on walks by myself in the dark is not safe; I really ought to control my snacking; I should save my money rather than splash out on clothes that I, let’s face it, do not need.

Since being at home my family has had to accord with my lifestyle as much as I have to theirs. During my supervisions I condemn all three brothers and my parents to complete silence to minimise disruptions. I have effectively substituted my study buddies at university with my ten year old brother who now sits with me at my desk getting on with his school work and motivating me to get on with mine. In Cambridge I usually celebrate deadlines partying with friends; at home I celebrate these deadlines with my family, despite them never quite understanding the significance of submitting supervision work.

Living out at university has been an opportunity to trial various bad habits and independently find my own way of life. Being at home so unexpectedly has put a check on this way of life, and more often than not this has been to my greater benefit. Though I look forward to the day I am back in Cambridge and am able to flex my freedom once again, I will do so in moderation, keeping in mind the healthy habits I have picked up at home while ignoring the nonsensical ones. In the meantime, I am adapting to life at home. For starters I now remember that while stocking up on ice cream supplies for myself to pick up a few extra tubs for my brother.