My answer to this question often changed, depending on who was asking me. If my colleagues or someone of a serious nature was probing, the response would be, “I am doing a Graduate Program and majority of my team are in Melbourne so I moved to be closer to them”. If a new girlfriend that I was bonding over a bottle of wine with was interested, it was, “I had a boyfriend for 6 years and I just wanted to find out who I was without him. I couldn’t do that in the city with all of our memories” and if it was a boy I was so desperately trying to impress (RIP to all of them), it was, “I don’t know really, I guess I just have a pretty adventurous spirit” *flips hair over shoulder* (even typing this out is cringe).

The truth is, it was a mixture of all these reasons, and more.

Moving into my first apartment was iconic. I had found my roomie on Flatmates and unpacked all my belongings in one day. When friends visited they often commented on how ‘cute’ the place was which was polite speak for small. The grand tour was always done in no more than 60 seconds. We had a deranged upstairs neighbour who religiously vacuum cleaned between the hours of 2am - 4am and my flatmates cat, Mr Miyagi, would slink in and out of the windows as he pleased, only returning every 2 - 3 business days. We didn’t decorate much and for some reason, refused the idea of a dining room table. All food, wine and whatever else was consumed on our plush green velvet sofa.

The most memorable night in this apartment was the first time I had ‘people back to mine’. It had been another Friday night of heavy drinking after a week of being a Graduate. I had formed a group of 10-12 Graduate friends. All Type A personalities, attractive, single and loved to drink - a recipe for disaster. Our usual watering hole, Good Heavens, was coming to a close so I confidently said, “let’s all go back to mine”. Everyone agreed and I squealed inside. Act cool. Chill out. This is normal ‘living out of home’ behaviour, I told myself.

In the Ubers to my house, everyone piled out at the nearest bottle-o, stocking up on whatever cheap wine was in the sale bin that night. I only had one thing on my mind - the music. I needed to find the perfect song to kick the night off with but, admittedly, I was not the ‘coolest’ when it came to music. Racking my brain for artists that people had mentioned in conversation and the hot hits of that year, I settled on the perfect song (or so I thought), ‘Fisher - Losing It’. For anyone that doesn’t know this song, it is the beat that should really only be played in the early AM and perhaps at a club or heaving dance-floor. It does not belong at an 11pm gathering of 10 people at a tiny apartment on a Friday night after work. Hindsight, right?

I bounce into the apartment, grabbing glasses for everyone and the most critical item of the night - my bright blue UE boom. I chuck on Fisher and within 20 seconds, one of the ‘cool’ girls (who would later become a very close friend) asked me, “Do you think we could put something else on? This is a bit intense for right now?” I looked at her with saving grace and said, “Yeah totally, I think that just came on shuffle”, hoping my face didn’t reveal that I had been dwelling on this song for the entirety of the car ride and booze pick up.

The night wrapped around 2am and I was left with broken glasses, someone sleeping on the couch and gossip about who had hooked up with who. It. was. perfection.

Now, looking ahead to my 5th move in 7 years, I always think back to this first time and am hit with a wash of nostalgia. I would love to be a fly on the wall watching my 22 year old single self packing up my life and driving down the motorway with so many milestones ahead. But maybe that’s just it - it’s only looking back, that we realise how incredible these moments are for us and how they are each painted with a uniqueness that only that time, that place and that version of yourself is able and willing to embrace.

An ode to the first move, may it live on in all our memories.