The first time my (ex)roommates mentioned moving out was pretty early on in the semester. They would complain how far our building was from everything and the damp smell that plagued our room. While both were legitimate problems, neither issue seemed like more than a mild inconvenience to me, and I never thought they disliked it enough to go through the considerable hassle of moving all their stuff to a building on the other side of campus. I was mistaken.

When I had initially been assigned my roommates, I was really nervous. I like to think that I'm generally easy to get along with, but I was terrified that they'd hate me or think I was weird. Once we started living together, though, they seemed to like me fine. We'd all joke around together and conversation flowed easily. We'd put on the Pitch Perfect soundtrack and our homework time would devolve into a karaoke session. They'd stay up late playing truth or dare and I would occasionally participate, and it was fun when every night seemed like a slumber party.

It hurt when I found out they were moving. I knew it was nothing personal, but sometimes I couldn't help but wonder if I was part of the reason they wanted to switch buildings. They had known each other beforehand and had selected each other as their roommate. Neither one had wanted to live in a triple. So I was the third person that they never wanted or expected to have. It hurt, even more, to know that they were moving into another room together. Even though they assured me that it had nothing to do with me, the feeling of being unwanted was hard to shake.

I struggled a lot with whether or not I should move out as well. I was afraid I'd be lonely all by myself in an empty room. I was questioning whether I'd be missing out on the most central part of the dorm experience by not having to share my room with anyone.

I went home the weekend they moved out in an effort to stay out of their way. When I reentered my dorm on Sunday evening, all that was left of them was some trash and a forgotten sock or two. No formal goodbye. They'd moved out and moved on, or so it seemed.

The first week or so was strange. I erased their names from the whiteboard outside of the door, and wrote my own name in bold letters. Sometimes, people would catch me leaving my room and ask in wonder if I was really without roommates now. I'd say yes, and, with a tinge of pity in their voice, they'd follow up by asking if it was lonely. Slowly I realized that, no, actually, I'm not lonely.

Living alone has given me the freedom to do a lot of things I wasn't able to do when I had to account for other people. I've decorated the entire space exactly how I want to. I can take up as much space as I'd like. I can wake up early and turn on the lights and blast music without worrying that I'll wake my sleeping roommates. I can go to bed at 8 p.m. without fear of being woken up. I can take up all the shelves in the fridge.

Living alone seemed like it would be lonely and sad at first, but I know that my roommate's decision was nothing personal. In fact, their decision may have benefitted me more than it benefits them because now I get to live in a single room at a third of the price.