"My brother has moved into my room back home. And I'm not happy about it."

As the eldest child in my family, I was afforded many privileges ahead of my younger brother.

The first to get a double bed, watch M rated movies and go to the shopping centre on my own, he often cried ‘unfair’ on a number of independent milestones I got to first.

But nothing got under his skin like the size of my bedroom in comparison to his.

Bigger and better in every way, the fact I as the eldest was gifted with this covetable prize annoyed him ’til the day I moved out.

So when, after much deliberation, my Dad finally gave the go ahead for him to make the room his own, Nathan was in within 24 hours, leaving a path of dismantled bed slats and Zac Efron posters in his wake.

You can imagine my reaction upon hearing the news.

Fast forward 10 years and the tables have turned. Because now my brother is occupying my childhood bedroom, I kind of want it back.

Not because I want to move back home, but if I ever had to, the option to return to my former life like nothing ever happened is gone.

Even though I really being independent and all most of what comes with it, I'd be lying if I said I never had days where the thought of coming home to dinner on the table and free unlimited high speed internet didn't cross my mind.

And in times when I wanted (and still want) to run back with my tail between my legs, it was comforting to know there was a familiar place for me.

But now it's gone. My plan B has been taken from me and I'm pissed.

Just because I moved out and hopefully will never come back, doesn't mean I have to be OK with no longer having hypothetical access to something that was mine through so many important moments.

From my first kiss, first heartbreak and first spritz of celebrity perfume (among other things), that high-ceilinged room at the front of our house was my home away from, well, my home.

Listen: Two parents trying to understand teen slang is the best thing you'll hear all day (post continues after audio...)

A safe haven from a nosy step mum, a father who hated back-chat, and a sibling who played bad rap too loud.

Now my brother has gone in and taken over the last thing tying me to my old life, I guess all that's left to do is be an adult. Failing at life out of home is literally no longer an option.

Look, it's not like I won't have a place to sleep when I go home to visit. And I guess there's no rational reason my brother shouldn't enjoy the perks of my old room.

But it would have been nice, if I ever did want it back, to have the option.

Has a sibling moved into your childhood bedroom? How did it make you feel?