The funny thing about labels, isn't it? We slap them on people as easily as we double-tap an Instagram post. "Friend." It rolls off the tongue, a casual descriptor for the person you exchange memes with or the colleague you grab lukewarm coffee with in the breakroom. But sometimes, I think we dilute the word, stretch it so thin it becomes almost meaningless. These aren't always the people who see the cracks in your carefully constructed facade and still choose to sit beside you in the quiet.
The world outside the comforting chaos of school and college can feel… vast. And suddenly, the pool of potential "friends" shrinks while the pressure to network and connect in the corporate jungle swells. You find yourself nodding along to conversations that bore you, forcing smiles at jokes that don't land, all in the name of building these elusive "friendships." But what if those connections feel more like a performance? What if you're constantly editing yourself, softening your edges to fit into someone else's mold? That, my friends, is just exhausting.
Here's a thought that might feel like a rebellious whisper in a crowded room: it's okay to be on your own. It's okay to choose your own adventure, one movie ticket, one perfectly spiced paneer tikka at that restaurant you've been wanting to try. You don't need a committee to validate your choices or a consensus to define your joy. There's a certain quiet power in knowing exactly what you want and simply going for it.
Now, don't get me wrong. This isn't a manifesto against friendship. I have friends. Two, to be precise. You might even recognize their voices echoing in the digital halls of this very blog. We've navigated scraped knees and awkward teenage phases together, our roots intertwined in the same familiar neighborhood. Now, life has scattered us across cities, yet they feel closer than most people I see every day.
And what makes this bond so… real? It's the glorious absence of obligation. We don't need to share the same passions or dissect the same films. In fact, our differences are often the most interesting part. One might be scaling the corporate ladder while another is chasing entrepreneurial dreams, and I'm here, wrestling with words. Our common ground is less about shared hobbies and more about a fundamental understanding, a silent acknowledgment of each other's quirks and complexities. Our shared disdain for the fervent obsession with cricket in this country? Well, that's just a bonus. We're not exactly the sporty types, though I wouldn't say no to playing a game – watching? Pass.
Distance hasn't diminished the connection; if anything, it's highlighted its resilience. They understand my silences as much as my ramblings. We don't need constant validation or performative displays of affection. They just are. And that, in its quiet simplicity, is everything.
We are a small tribe, us three introverts in a world that often celebrates the boisterous and the abundant. We don't have sprawling social circles, and honestly, that's perfectly fine. Life doesn't require a cast of thousands to be meaningful. Sometimes, the most profound experiences are the ones you have with yourself.
So, if you find yourself scrolling through social media, feeling a pang of FOMO because your feed is filled with group outings and boisterous gatherings, remember this: your own company can be pretty damn good. Embrace the solitude. Discover the quiet hum of your own thoughts. Pursue your own interests with unapologetic enthusiasm. Happiness, that genuine, unforced kind, has a funny way of attracting the right people when the time is right. And if it doesn't? Well, being alone isn't synonymous with being lonely. It can be a fascinating, enriching journey all its own.
I am incredibly grateful for my two constants, my co-pilots in this strange and beautiful life. But right now, in this moment, I'm here, enjoying the quiet symphony of my own existence. And you know what? I am so fine with that.
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