I've spent six interesting weeks pouring random opinions and endless nagging onto this corner of your beloved Sunday paper. And at last, as I was checking my spam-littered email this morning, I received my first bit of feedback from a reader, serving me up a list of questions about what I am like in person.

Quoting from the nice young man: "You seem like a really independent and free-spirited person." I winced and blushed at the same time. Nice compliment, darling, but hardly true.

Let's get personal then. What kind of person is yours truly? Well, I am dangerously close to 30 and terrifyingly single; I am the proud owner of two establishments that seem to blossom beautifully, balancing entrepreneurship, a music career in the dignified side of the Indie scene and part-time writing.

That description might give you the illusion of an "independent woman", but wait till you hear the punch line: I still live with my parents. Boom! The walls of admiration crumble into dust.

Independence is a strong word, my friend. It's an abused, overrated, deceiving word. If you get up close, you'll see many of my kind around you. They're the people in your office outdoing you in every task, the critically acclaimed film director you see in magazines, the ever-so-hip DJ spinning at your favorite club, the owner of the cutting-edge record shop that you regularly visit in your attempt to look cultured (even though you have no idea who is that weirdly dressed band whose latest CD you just bought. But the less known the sexier, right?). Where do you think these people go home to when the day is done? Their parent's house.

When it comes to lifestyles, Jakarta lacks nothing in eccentricity and outrageousness. But when it comes to our roles in our families, we instinctively revert into conventional people. Like the custom of living with your parents until you get married. Even when you can afford to rent a decent house or even buy one, you choose to follow the custom. For conformity, and perhaps practicality. Having your maids do your bed and laundry everyday? Tell me that isn't blissfully convenient.

Of course, a large number of yuppies and college students have opted to move out of mommy's abode, and get their own pad for an easier daily commute. But that doesn't mean that you become truly independent to the point where you can say, "It's my life and I'll do what I choose to do and take full responsibility of my actions." No, sirree.

Take my tattoo-covered girlfriend, for example. A respected woman high in the food chain of the Jakarta DIY Punk scene (Don't know what DIY Punk is? Google it), with a skyrocketing career in the advertising business. She has been living on her own and paying for herself for many years. But when she goes home to her parents' house on weekends, she has to wear long sleeve shirts and long skirts to cover the huge tattoos that she's had for years.

Or my other friend. A self-proclaimed atheist whose notorious blog is dedicated to his skepticism in religion. The blogs often generate hundreds of comments from skeptics and the faithful alike, battling each other with phrases like "You blasphemous fools will burn in hell" and "You fanatics need to read some Nietzsche". But why am I not surprised to find Mr. Atheist Blogger going to the mosque for Ied prayers with his family last year?

This might sound a bit clich*, but with the flow of information through the media and the Internet, urbanites of my generation have gotten easy access to peeking at various lifestyles that our moms and pops never knew existed. And so maybe we start to ponder things like "hey, anarchism is pretty cool" after reading crimethinc.com. Or "I want to be a DJ" after meeting people who make their own mixes on Myspace.

While some parents are purely orthodox, and others are somewhat open-minded, only a few are liberal enough to be able to completely accept the path we choose. Don't blame them. If you think it's hard for you, it is harder for them. So before getting pissed off at them for giving you a hard time when you tell them you're moving in to your boyfriend's crib, try telling yourself that they don't watch Sex and the City and they too have to deal with society's pressure for proper parenting. Maybe that'll help get you through another year of living in the same house in which you were born and raised.

- KARTIKA JAHJA

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