Nothing feels more mentally agonizing and rueful than the feeling of loneliness. I’ve walked throughout the twenty years of my life with it, bearing it like a stone covered beneath my heart. One of the very first feelings I felt as a child was of being lonely.
It was the feeling of being abandoned when I waited for my grandfather to pick me up after everyone else have left school for their home. It was the strong bulging pain in my throat when my parents boarded the plane without me. It was the betrayal I felt after being forgotten by a friend I trusted and valued so much. It was being excluded in everything people did and everywhere people went to. It was of being distant and oblivious to the chaos of 3 am parties, alcohol and teenage sex. It was the high school cafeteria thrumming with laughter and shouts and I, sitting alone at the corner of the library, as I silently observe.
It was the feeling of entering into a world I was a stranger to, a harsh perilous place I was yet to get accustomed to. It was longing the presence of my loved ones when all there stood before me was the darkness and the cold, brooding emptiness.
It was missing those good yet short memories that passed by, which have left me now in the abysmal circle of void and confusion. It was missing my old self, longing to return to a past that’ll never come back.
But time moves forward and I had no option but to follow its obscure path.
Loneliness was I, in a world that was so full of people but where I still felt like a pathless wanderer, moving from home to home, like a soul with no body.