Meeting new people can be one of the most stressful things when you’re in your first year of university.
Especially when your ability to socialize is next to nonexistent and fading with every botched up conversation you’re involved in.
So when you see an invitation to your first club meeting, your stomach jolts and you automatically freeze up. You’re filled with both excitement and unease — most of your past social interactions have ranged from being slightly tolerable to being downright awkward, but you also have a small shred of hope for finding someone you connect with.
You unconsciously start imagining how the meeting will go. You see yourself alternating between standing alone next to the wall and striking up awkward two-second conversations with faceless blurs.
You briefly wonder if you should you even go.
But they’re supposed to be your people, people who share your interests. So you’re bound to fit in… right?
The next thing you know, it’s the day of the meeting. Your heart is tapping out strange beats in your chest and your hands are fluttering around to fix your hair, your bag, your clothes.
When you step through the door, the execs immediately pounce, brightly welcoming you and asking you questions about yourself. You plaster a smile on your face as your mind blanks out and you answer on autopilot — are those even words coming out of your mouth or just senseless noise?
It isn’t long before you give one too many “hmm’s” and “ah’s”. They become distracted by new people entering the room and you gradually drift to the sidelines, sticking to the wall like glue. You keep quiet and observe everyone else in the room — everyone is in groups talking to each other, voices blending with the laughter ringing through the small space. It makes you feel smaller.
Soon, you belatedly realize that you’re the only one alone and clinging to the wall, but you cringe at the thought of finding a group to join.
You imagine approaching a group and introducing yourself. You imagine the pregnant pause in conversation and the polite smiles and uninterested glint in their eyes. You imagine the stilted conversation that follows before you are forced to excuse yourself, saving everyone the discomfort of continuing the not-conversation.
It’s better to just stay next to the wall, alone, you decide. You wouldn’t want to disturb them.
You linger there, simultaneously building up and tearing down your courage to strike up a conversation with someone, until the execs gradually begin to call everyone to their seats.
You find a spot near the back and sit down, fidgety from being alone while everyone is not. You quietly watch as the execs try and fail to politely herd everyone to their seats amidst the clamour.
Suddenly, someone sits in the same row as you, three spots away — a girl. Alone.
Her face is unreadable, cold. But through some unknown surge of confidence, you brush it off and refuse to be intimidated. You wait for a few moments for her to be joined by her friends but she remains alone.
You don’t let yourself think about it too much and abruptly turn towards her, heart beating out of your chest.
“Hey,” you call out to her. “Are you here alone?”
She nods. You press on eagerly. “Same. I’m Angela.”
She might be imagining it, but she almost seems relieved. She leans forward hesitantly. “I’m Claire.”
Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you continue asking her questions. She answers. There is no mind blanking, no struggle to think up responses for the both of you. You are miraculously clever and witty, able to continue the conversation with minimal hiccups. Instead of the stilted pauses you’re accustomed to, you have companionable silences. You both laugh.
At the end of the meeting, you leave with a lighter step, a bubble of laughter still in your chest. You leave knowing that you’ve beaten the odds, that the small shred of hope in you isn’t that silly after all.
You leave knowing that despite having a terrible case of social awkwardness… you’ve made a new friend.