The World Gets Cold, And We Live Solo

“I got no signal on my phone, no one could ever truly know. All the loneliness of the long flight home.” — Sunday (1994)

The digital clock on my laptop shows almost 10 p.m. I know it’s pointless to stay longer because I’ll end up doing anything but the actual work, so I pack all of my things into my extra-large tote bag, pay two thousand for parking, and head ‘home.’

Home is such a strong word for me, hence the quotation marks, because I still can’t find its true meaning — nor the place where I truly belong. There’s always a suitcase ready under my bed, so I can pack and leave whenever needed. There’s also a box full of magnets from every country I’ve visited, not belonging to any refrigerator… yet.

They say this is the cost of freedom and sanity; to come back to a dark room after a long day, with a pile of clean but messy clothes, and sometimes a chill breeze because I forgot to close the window.

But on the other hand, it also gives me the space to contemplate and grow. They say you can’t heal in the same place that once made you bleed. I think I took that a little too literally, but thankfully, it works.

Isn’t it mesmerizing that in this busy and loud world, we can have a room just for ourselves? At first, it felt like a trap, but lately, I’ve started to feel blessed. When I’m wounded, I can heal myself and then face the world with a happy smile, giving my best performance. I can choose who enters this space, only allowing those who truly know me. It feels like a win-win treaty: no one interrupts my growth process. I figure out that the world actually waits while I take baby steps through each new phase of life.

I feel like I’ve slowly become a better person since I started living alone. And enjoy it.

I stopped trying so hard to find a sense of “home” in someone else and chose myself instead. When I refused to see my ex again, I knew I had succeeded in building a solid foundation within myself. I closed every door for him to ever hurt me again. I realized I could move on without needing his validation or the false hope of creating the home he always talked about. Because the real home is within me.

I love being with myself and watching her grow into someone good, even if she isn’t yet the woman I aspire to be. But growing is a forever-thing isn’t it?

All the sleepless nights became more bearable when I stopped silently complaining about the sweet home I never had. Adulthood hits hard for all of us when we finally understand that our parents did their best with everything they knew at the time — especially when we reach the age they were when they had us. It must have been so confusing and tough for them.

It’s always our responsibility to heal ourselves, regardless of the cause. The chain should break with us. To every nomad, to every solo-living woman, the world has always been cold, even when we were still beneath our keeper’s roof. But the world rotates. The seasons change. May summer come as sunlight breaks through our kitchen windows, where we laugh with loved ones and children, sharing a warm dinner. Or perhaps as you travel from milestone to milestone, country to country. Or even better, when you do both. Whatever you please.