Yay for home invasions

In my life, I've had comparatively few encounters with criminal elements of any kind. I had my bike stolen when I was 13 or so, I've seen the odd fight and whotnot, but generally, not much. My first real encounter was yesterday.

I'd been working late, developing the debate society's website (for the tournament coming up in March). As a result, it was about 2:30 before I actually managed to drag my already-tired carcass into bed. Shortly thereafter, I heard some noises outside my room that sounded like movement, either from my flat or from the flat above. When I arose from bed, and put my glasses on, I also noticed light from the kitchen, where I had previously turned it off.

When I opened my door (aluminum alloy MagLite flashlight in hand), it became clear I was not being paranoid. I saw a fleeting figure beating a hasty retreat out of my house. On following him to my balcony, I noticed another, ahead of his compatriot and already around the corner; he was largely out of my sight.

In the end, these guys, who had likely come in via the far-too-frequently-unlocked balcony sliding door, grabbed almost nothing of value. They got a very old digital camera of mine, a broken cell phone ofmy flatemate's, and her credit cards, which she canceled immediately. So, in the end it was a slightly scary wakeup call, that we need to be more serious about security-notably using the security gate by the balcony door and always locking the front door. And it could have been worse.

But there's still something violating about an invader in your house. I'm more sentimental than I'll admit to most of my friends (though apparently not random internet people who stumble across my blog). My home is my sanctuary. It's my place. It where, at the end of the day, I don't have to worry about anything, unless I choose to. That's why I moved out of halls: I wanted a place that was truly "mine". And a big part of that is the settling I feel in this place. And very little is more shattering to that illusion of security and sanctity than having a stranger break in.

There's a part of me that wishes I'd been faster, and had had a chance to beat the theif unconscious with my Maglite. There's obviously a big part of me that wishes it had jsut never happened, and they'd picked another house about which to be opportunistic. But, ultimately, I just feel betrayed and violated in a way I haven't felt in a long time. This is my house. How dare he?