musings in solitude

Do we reach out because we're lonely, or are we lonely because we reach out?

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I had an inspiration to write a short story recently. I haven't found the time to sit down and actually write it, but I will soon enough. I mean, I could stop blogging here and now, whip out a piece of paper and a pencil, and start writing. But I think I want to write to the world (honestly, I don't think anyone reads this blog except myself, and a helluva good that does), not just solely to myself.

In the kitchen of my empty apartment, I was initially thinking about the theme of Plato's Euthyphro - whether something is pious because the gods love it, or if it is pious in and of itself, thus the gods' loving it. A rumble of steel wheels over train tracks interrupted my thoughts; my mind began to wander:

Do we reach out because we're lonely, or are we lonely because we reach out?

Since my arrival, I've noticed that I've become more "sociable", to the extent that the two Chinese girls who live below me think that I have tons of friends , while their English flatmate thinks I'm a social butterfly (he recently informed me that one of abovementioned Chinese girls likes me - nuts). My flatmate's friends treat my extension as a helpline for all things - IT-related, how to store muesli, how to cook rice, how much money he should withdraw to buy a laptop that costs £399 (fuck I thought that was obvious) - and I've unofficially become the IT helpdesk and cure-all for anything that runs on an Intel chip.

And that couldn't be further from the truth.

I don't want to get out of bed in the mornings, not because I'm dreading having to live through the day, but because I don't want to plaster on a fake smile and say hi to people. I don't want to be snarky and snarly either; I just want to be left alone to my own devices, and to talk to the people I want to talk to. I don't want to have to talk to people. At times, I'm tempted to yell and tell them to fuck off.

But I don't. I simply lock my door, disconnect my extension, turn my cellphone and room lights off. I listen to my music through my headphones, and read with the natural light streaming in through my window. And I'm at peace. I don't feel too lonely during these periods. Everything in the world doesn't seem that bad. When I think I'm ready to face the world again, I unlock my door, reconnect my extension, turn my cellphone and lights on. Then I slap on my decal of a fake and cheery disposition and step out into the papier-mâché world of constructed personalities, cemented smiles, and hollow laughs.

I've tried reaching out to people here, and I've still felt lonely. In my room, with just my novels and philosophy, I'm at peace. Friends come, friends go. I don't talk as much with some of my friends as I used to, while the time difference makes talking to some of them extremely difficult at best. I can't call as and when I'd like to either; I'm kinda broke here. Email is a poor sbustitute, for it feels like a monologue.

So dear Reader - if you've got to this point, I think I can guess who you are - what do you think? Are you lonely because you've got people around you, or are you lonely because there's no one? In a world that is chock-full of falsities, lies, constructions, Photoshopped images, airbrushed faces and padded bras, what's real?

Who's real?

I think I'm this lonely because I'm reaching out, but no one's there. And in a way, I'm glad.