House Hunting...

So I promised you a post on the delights of hunting for houses. Well here it is...

First of all, just let me say, that I hate house hunting. With a passion. Partly because it means that life is changing. Partly because I'm still not 100% certain I'm living with the right people. But mostly because of the changing thing. I don't want it to change. I like my flat. I love having my own space. I have no idea what I'm going to do in a house with 4 other girls.

In terms of people, house hunting has almost killed me. Just when I thought everything was going well in terms of friendship and the fact that I had managed to emerge from my shell and make friends it all went downhill. I was going to be living with the girl in the room next door to me. All of my friends are linked through her. All of them. But then she decided that she wanted to live with the boyfriend who hasn't even got into our uni yet. I'm Muslim. I don't want to live with a guy. So, very nicely, I asked her to think about what she was doing because, in her deciding we were all going to live with the BF, I was automatically being pushed out.

She, a law student no less, started bad mouthing me off to everyone. Everyone. And asking people to chose between us. That isn't mature. That's downright mean. And because of her I'm now living with 2 people I get on with really really well and 2 people I barely know. One of them, lets call her D, is the complete opposite of me. She loves going out. Loves it. We barely speak.

Part of me just wanted to stay in halls next year but I was too much of a chicken to break away from the only group I seemed to have going for me at that current moment in time. And yesterday we found a house. A very nice house with nice sized rooms and a nice landlord and its only a nice stone throw away from the uni gate. It's very nice. So nice I payed a holding deposit.

And then, (apologise for the rambling - I'm using this blog as therapy), I had a panic attack at 1am this morning. I suddenly realised the reason for the pit in my stomach that I had been having ever since we told the estate agent we were ready to commit. This pit normally means something bad is going to happen. As per usual, my gut was right.

You see, I'm muslim. I know I've already said that but it's fundamently important to the story. Muslims don't drink, go out (to pubs, clubs), don't have BFs. They are pretty much the complete opposite of students. I had decided that this was going to be alright - that I could live in a house with people who do all the things I'm not meant to do and it wouldn't be unIslamic in any way. Then I realised that it might be. And suddenly I was drowning in the fact that I was going to have to tell my new house mates that I couldn't live with them any more. That they would have to find somebody else. That they would hate me.

I've since been told that as long as I don't do the things they're going to do I shouldn't burn in hell. I just hope the person who told me this was right. Either way, I'm living with people I really don't have a lot in common with. Next year's going to be fun. Not.

The pit hasn't gone yet. I doubt it ever will...