Fleeting friendships, lasting solitude
I often worry about the prospect of being alone—not the fleeting, temporary sense of the word, but rather, its more permanent and enduring state. The kind that boasts a lasting mark, betraying a monument of perpetual solitude looming in the greater distance. At 20, I feel fortunate enough to say that I am not quite there yet. But with change prevailing over the last few constants I have fervently held on to all these years, impermanence has become the norm. Now, I can already visualize its form from where I stand.
At this treacherous point, it is only a matter of time before the perpetuity of solitude finally catches up to me.
Being alone, at its core, is not inherently bad. Some people prefer the peace they find in it, while others simply long for the freedom that comes with the idea of a solitary existence. Being an introvert for as long as I can remember, I, too, am not a stranger to the tranquility of lonesomeness. There is silent joy at the thought of independence, serenity at being unperturbed by pleasing others, and, above all, contentment at having a taste of quiet amid all the chaos. Still, while I welcome the prospect of being alone from time to time, I, nevertheless, feel trepidation at the impending possibility of its permanence. That, one day, it will swallow me whole and leave no room for the companionship I crave every so often.
Back in high school, being alone was a foreign concept I seldom concerned myself with. Why would I, when I had a constant group of friends whom I was fortunate enough to spend every waking day of secondary school with? In those days, solitude seemed a thousand light-years away from our joined classroom seats, daily canteen runs, and tricycle rides home. The notion of being alone could not touch me from where I sat in my self-imposed bubble, where everything gleamed with the promise of constancy. At the time, it was so easy to picture a life where I was and will be, all but alone.
As it turns out though, this, too, was a testament to the inevitability of change. From a series of thoughtless misjudgments and unwise decisions on my part, I eventually lost the friendships I once held close to my heart. The imminent outline of solitude’s ineffable form became even clearer when I gradually lost contact even with those whom I initially did not have a falling out with. It was evident: My gleaming bubble of constancy was nothing short of a mirage, and I was never an exception to the prospect of being alone.
I thought things would change in senior high school. After all, attending a new institution meant having a clean slate. For a while, it worked. I steered clear of solitude and relished the company of new people. I had my bubble again. Nonetheless, on account of the pandemic, one year of onsite classes coupled with the reshuffling of sections in the following grade was simply not enough to reignite the fervent flames of what I had lost. Before I knew it, the same scene was playing in front of my eyes: the bursting bubble of constancy, fading friendships, and the permanence of solitude drawing nearer, taking on an increasingly palpable shape.
Perhaps it is my fate, as someone who yearns for companionship, to endure the punishment of seclusion, but the idea of being alone, in a permanent and enduring state, was getting more discernible by the second. I realize that the entire time, not once did I ever escape its pervasiveness, nor was I exempted from its rule. It was always around where I stood, sometimes as a passing shadow, often as a tangible reminder of a regrettable past closing in, setting the stage for an inevitable and lonesome future.
Now, in the collegiate academe, I am dreading its return. Attending school in an unfamiliar city, it took me a long while to find my bearings in yet another clean slate. At this point, I have met new friends again and the window to reigniting the lost pretenses of constancy has remained open—for now, at least, until the curtain closes like all the other chapters in my life that preceded it. Ultimately, who is to say that my present circumstances will persist as part of the lasting permanence I have coveted for so long?
The short answer stands: I will never know for sure. Contemplating the perpetuity of change and how I have blamed it for the impending permanence of solitude in my life, I have outwardly made an unfair verdict. Humans are not created to be forcibly constrained to a singular niche until the end of time—they are bound to move forward, to better and more fulfilling pastures where they can thrive better than they did before. Likewise, although the possibility of permanence cannot be discounted, change is inherent—it is, and will always be embedded in the nature of things. Friends are not mandated to stay stuck within a gleaming bubble of permanence for the benefit of an introverted teen. They are supposed to grow; not always apart, but even if so, that is okay.
Anne Breechie L. de Jesus, 20, is a biology student at the Ateneo de Manila University. She likes to read, paint, and overanalyze passing conversations from years ago.
###—###
#ColumnName
