I grew up in a tightly-knit family. After attending mass on Sundays, we would always visit my grandparent’s place to meet with my cousins, aunts, and uncles on an almost weekly basis. I would always meet my parent’s friends whenever we went out, and they would talk for a good amount of time before we went off. I don’t believe there was a time when we didn’t encounter a new family friend whenever we went out. It seemed like there was a story behind every person we encountered.
In spite of this, I was always the person who sat quietly at the table, listening in on the chit-chat of other people. This was met with disapproval from my parents, who always wanted me to be more engaged during gatherings. I would always be the butt of jokes in conversations, and I took it negatively every time. Because of this, I learned to avoid talking altogether.
That mindset of always keeping to myself carried over to when I was with friends in school. In high school, I made use of my breaks reading books and idling, talking only when I felt like it or when it was needed. It was convenient for me—I had a place where I could be by myself, and a place where I could be with my friends.
One avenue to abandon my phase of solitude and awkwardness presented itself in a study abroad tour during the summer. For two months, I was in a world where I could be with my peers with minimal adult supervision. With the independence and freedom given to the students during the tour, I started becoming more active and social with others. I often went out with my friends, and talked to others more. It was a good feeling to be a part of a group.
Upon going back to regular programming back home, though, the sense of freedom I had fallen apart. A constant unease and awkwardness once more loomed over me whenever I was with friends. While they would be walking together, I would end up lagging behind them, watching them enjoy each other’s company. It always felt like I was the odd one out, the puzzle piece that never really had a place on the board.
I entered college without giving much thought to what I felt in the past. With a clean slate in front of me, I made an effort to rebrand myself in an environment different from what I was used to. I once again went back to being sociable and bibo, engaging in conversations in classes, or volunteering in different org projects, all the while thinking that this was how I would get the most out of my stay in college. Everything rushed past me, to the point that I grew tired of the fast-paced lifestyle I had planned.
As a result, I came to appreciate once more the time I spent by myself. Whenever I ate lunch or walked home by myself at night, there was this calming feeling of not having to talk to anyone. I began to enjoy the peace that came with it. I went to my group of friends less and less, and if I were with them, I would usually be the silent observer in the room.
Because of the environment I grew up in, there was this unspoken pressure to socialize and interact with other people whenever the chance presented itself. The need to be in a social circle has always been an unwritten rule, especially in a country that is known for being friendly and welcoming. But being alone could also mean being content; content with the fact that you enjoy your own company and no one else’s.
This isn’t me making excuses for isolating myself from other people. Rather, it is a message for everyone who thinks that being by yourself is something negative and should be changed; there is no shame in solitude, and solitude shouldn’t stop you from becoming satisfied. If you find comfort in being by yourself, let no one tell you otherwise.
Whenever I see my photos of friends from high school having their own reunions, there’s always that feeling of jealousy in not being able to appreciate and experience these, but I find peace of mind knowing that I can always rely on myself to find my bed of roses.
