Edited by: Pratyusha Gupta
I thought I knew what loneliness was. But in hindsight, I was only oblivious to its depths. I did not truly understand loneliness until it engulfed me in a small room within a ten-story building filled with people.
The loneliness I knew was not having someone to share my silly secrets with. However, I always had a home to live in and a family who cared. People came and went, but I always had the constant presence of my family to return to. With that certainty in mind, I loved being alone in my room, relishing the delightful moments of solitude that were only interrupted briefly by my sweet little family. Those interruptions bothered me, but alas, I never understood the joy of those interrupted moments. My sister’s annoying chatter, my mother’s loving taunts, my grandmother’s rebukes for not eating enough, and my father’s overprotectiveness—these are all things I now long for. Their absence has left a lingering void in me, and no one else but them can truly fill this void. I am craving the familiarity of home and the comfort it brings.
But now, I am alone in this ten-story building, which is supposed to be my home. I have friends, but they are only people I know, not people I can count on. I long for an emotional connection and a feeling of safety. I yearn to be with someone I can be myself around. However, all the people who left before have taught me not to let my walls down. I am desperate to alleviate this pain that clings to me like a shadow, but I am not a fool to make the same mistake again.
So now I am lonely, with no home to go to. This residence hall feels as alien as it did on the first day I arrived. I wonder how long it will take for me to think of it as home or even something close to it. I wonder what makes a house a home to begin with. Perhaps it is the comfort and love that my family brought into the house with their sheer presence. Surely, there are many people living in this building, but ironically, I feel more alone in their presence than I did when I was alone in my room. Their unfamiliarity only deepens my internal anguish. We are separated by huge concrete walls, both literally and metaphorically. Even if the tangible walls are removed, the intangible walls will still separate us. I gaze at the concrete walls, trying to fathom their strength. Perhaps they are not as formidable as I presume, and they will crumble with just one attempt. However, I do not even possess the desire to make an attempt. What if I try, and the walls refuse to budge? I will only end up making a fool of myself.
Thus, I remain alone in my room. I now understand the loneliness I never experienced as a child but was daunted by. It is bittersweet. Nevertheless, I am doing well—at least that’s what I tell myself every day. One thing I am certain about is that this loneliness is making me stronger. I find comfort in this solitude. After all, it is the closest thing I have in this place. I no longer fight it but take solace in it instead. The irony of my feeling alone in a place filled with people is something I can only gracefully accept. I am grateful that I have people to talk to and a family that is remote but still cares. I understand that nothing is the same as before, and nothing will ever be, but perhaps it is only for the best. It is a challenging journey that I decided to embark on, and now I have to face these challenges alone. Even in my loneliness, I know that I am a part of something; I know that there is someplace to which I belong. Maybe being alone in this ten-story building is not actually as awful and agonizing as it seemed before. There is peace in being enveloped in loneliness—peace I never experienced before.
So, now I embrace this loneliness that stands in front of me in my empty room. People may come and go, but even if everyone leaves, I will still have myself, and if I make peace with my own self, this loneliness will cease to itch.