Some people say living alone must be full of freedom, adventure, and endless enjoyment. I think they’re either joking—or just not looking closely enough. They see only the glossy, Instagram-worthy surface.
Because here’s the truth: at the end of the day, I come back to an empty room. Even if I play music, the walls echo back the loneliness. I keep a mental clock, making sure I’m home by 8 p.m., not because I’m tired, but because as a woman living alone, safety comes before spontaneity—especially when there’s no one to check if I made it back.
I keep a packet of emergency medicines tucked away, because when I fall sick, there’s no one to fetch me soup or remind me to take my pills. I wear a smile to work and deliver my best because personal struggles aren’t an excuse in the professional world. Every single day, I am forced to be my strongest version, not because I want to, but because I must.
And yet, my mind is a treasure chest of memories—each one tied to people. The chanting of Saraswati Vandana from a nearby school in Bihar. The impatient crowd grabbing pirated novels outside Connaught Place in Delhi. The vibrant kites dotting the sandy skies of Mangalore. Potato lovers filling the little Snack Shack café in Manipal. The dense green canopy flanking both sides of the road in Jamshedpur.
Living alone does give a certain independence. There’s no one else’s schedule to consider, no constant obligations. But there’s also a strange detachment—from families of people my age, from the sense of belonging to a shared community.
Festivals are the hardest. In a new city where the language feels foreign, I try to soak in the festive mood by visiting decorated malls. But deep down, I miss the chaos of decorating my home with family, the smell of homemade sweets, the warmth of familiar laughter, and that irreplaceable sense of protection.
As Haruki Murakami once wrote, “Loneliness becomes an acid that eats away at you.”
Maybe living alone is freedom, but it’s also a constant reminder of everything that makes belonging so beautiful.
Niharika Prasad
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