I’m the last of six children and we all lived together with our mom. I grew up accustomed to feeling the presence of others; always knowing that “someone is around”. When I hit puberty, I was grateful that my family, though religious, was still liberal enough to let me stay home from church once in a while, whenever I said I didn’t want to go. I craved that solitude back then; the knowledge that nobody else was around. The thrill of strange noises caused by unknown and possibly macabre agents.
I never lived outside of home during my school years, the main reason being that our house at the time was actually a trekkable distance from my campus. It was therefore impractical of me to schlep all the way to the hostels, which were even farther away than the school. Also, staying on campus would incur expenses that would be both cringeworthy and painfully unecessary for my mother. I knew all this, so I never pushed.
The first night I spent in my very own tiny apartment was bliss; I actually overslept and had to hastily send a text to my boss saying I would be in late. There was just this peace that permeated the air, especially after sharing one wing of two rooms with two other girls for the preceding three or so months.
As a child, I had always been that one that they had to call in from play because I would lose all sense of time and stay out even after it got dark. Now, my mind goes blank when people ask me how and why I stay indoors all day. It does not occur to me that shutting myself up inside the house is strange in any way.
To a large extent, I have grown to value and appreciate my own company because inside of my head is a very entertaining place, and inside of my house is, for the most part, one of the few places where I do not feel self-conscious or socially awkward.
I am funny, logical, sometimes startlingly smart, sexy, thoughtful, and quite devout when it is called for. The best jokes are the ones I tell myself, shamelessly laughing out loud in pure enjoyment. I do not enjoy posing for other people to take pictures of me, but alone I can click off two hundred pictures of myself in the space of twenty minutes. I enjoy the solitude that transforms me into a medium able to read the minds and emotions of people both real and imaginary. I do not fight the fleeting sad moments that envelope me because sadness helps me ponder on the big picture, also driving me to fully appreciate the little things humans often take for granted.
I would rather be in command of the social media console that is my mobile phone than be out there in the thick of things, and people, struggling to either get out of difficult situations or blend in with whichever wall or plant is nearby. I greatly enjoy being able to limit my interactions with other humans from the safety of my room, or the throne of condescension that is my couch.
Sure, there are days of loneliness and self doubt when I realise that I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m doing in life, but these moments generally don’t last.
Frankly, it has gotten to the point where I idly wonder what kind of a wife or mother I would make because I’m so sure I will vanish from time to time just to have my own space. Anyways, bridges will be crossed when they are reached, and whatnot 🙂