the kind of loneliness that whispers, not shouts

beachy blues

i grew up with a weird sort of loneliness. the kind where i wasn’t alone but still alone. the kind where i learnt to enjoy my own company. the kind where people were there around me and yet they weren’t.

everyone loved me being the only daughter, the only niece, the only grand-daughter, the only child. being the sole claimant of their affection i was quite pampered…literally was the apple of their eyes.

i grew up with tickle storms and chocolate fights with my aunts, my dad’s weird humor that made me giggle, my mom’s kisses, the quiet love of my grandpa getting me a candy everyday, and the unconditional and boundless love and pampering by my grandmother that knocks out all sorts of love in the world.

on the contrary, i grew up knocking on my friends’ doors with an eagerness to play, sometimes they did, sometimes i carried my disappointed heart carefully back home. i grew up playing alone, in weird ways that you’d be astonished to know — applying pastes of talc and face cream on my cheeks, taking a couple of neem leaves and grinding them against a concrete floor with a rock to make “neem chutney”, plucking flowers to make garlands out of them, mixing up random ingredients in the kitchen which made no sense and of course i slept with my stuffed toys like they were my babies.

i was loved though. i am. as a kid whenever my aunts and grandparents visited me, i would be overjoyed with happiness. i felt as if there’s nothing more happier than spending time with my favorite people. but when they left….tears filled my eyes each time, even tried to pretend to be angry hoping it would change their mind and they would not leave. but they did. so i learnt to hide those tears, until 12. now it doesn’t make me sad at all, but has left an integral emotional effect for some unknown reason.

i don’t blame them because there’s nothing to blame them for. they have their obligations — work and their own life. they love me the best they can and that’s enough.

“growing up sucks”, i said, with each passing birthday from the thirteenth one.

i was surrounded by my favorite people but each time they left, each year something changed, the closeness didn’t feel the same nor the bond. but i am still close to them. i love them with each ounce of my heart and they do too.

how do i explain that i like being alone now? i find peace in solitude. not because i don’t like company, i do but.. my natural habitat has become to be alone. weirdly i like it and weirdly i envy people around me who have “their people” or what they call “homies”. not in a “i hate you that you have something i don’t” but in a “that’s a beautiful thing you have there, it’s just sad that i don’t” kinda way.

it must be beautiful to have a sibling to share your laughter over inside jokes, someone who gets your humor, a friend your family trusts you with, someone who understands what you’re thinking with a glimpse of an eye contact or a mischievous smile.

social interactions terrify me. lots of people around overstimulate me and i go quiet gasping for space and air.

i don’t know how else it is supposed to be. i don’t blame anyone or myself. maybe it is what it is. and it is okay. maybe that’s just who i am. to see there’s beauty in it too… i am completely myself with a few people, and only they know me truly and all of me.

i was/am alone but also not. i was/am lonely but also not. i’ve oddly found peace in both. maybe I felt lonely because I was pampered or I felt pampered because I was lonely. maybe that’s the paradox of growing up. wholeness doesn’t always come from others but maybe by building a safe home within ourselves.

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thank you for flipping through yet another page,

love,

unnati <3

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