Adulting reveals a poignant truth : the ebb and flow of companionship and loneliness. It is solitary dinners at dimly lit restaurants, where interactions with waiters accompany the sound of clinking cutlery. In cosy cafes, you yearn for a voice to break the stillness engulfing your table. The thought distracts you from your book, causing your eyeballs to dart back and forth, rereading the same line over and over again. In these quiet moments, you convince yourself that all you need is you.
It is when your friends, once inseparable, now chase different constellations. You extend your palm, hoping for resonance, but the echo of invitation boomerangs and strikes you into the shape of solitude. The intimacy that once painted your world in vibrant acrylic now feels like a weak and faded watercolour. The pecking order of priorities reveals itself with a clarity that is both stark and unforgiving. You now find yourself a few rungs down their ladder. Their laughter still graces your days every now and then, but it is often punctuated by a still silence.
Solitude becomes familiarity, and you have no choice but to enjoy drinking tea on your own. Each solo date becomes a testament to your resilience, the repeated whisper of ‘I am enough.’ But even the most resilient yearn to also brew tea for others, and there is a limit to how often one can smile on their own.
It seems, then, that adulting is a journey of revelation. It is about realising that while you may cherish your own company, the novel of life is written with the ink of connection. It is walking the fine line between independence and interdependence. As you stand at the crossroads, clutching at the dichotomy of self and community, you come to appreciate that your own story remains incomplete without the colourful writings of those who truly fill you with a warm and safe kind of love.
- Aurora Z.
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