to be & to belong.

Some years ago I stumbled across a quote on Pinterest, I hate people generally, but I like people individually. Judging by the multitude of times it showed up on my feed, a decent number of people must have resonated with it to some degree. I found the juxtaposition to be amusing, yet an opposite sentiment resonated with me instead. I am resonably fascinated by the idea of human beings — on its broad term. but I find myself harboring some kind of bitterness towards individuals more than I prefer to admit. In the words of Sarah Wilson, "I love humanity, I just find real-life human hard."

In truth, I'm often more delighted by the concept of human beings than by their close-up and tactile details. An excerpt stood out to me from a newsletter that I recently subscribed to. "The only thing that did and does feel real to me is people and their suffering and their joy, our deep and ongoing need for connection". I thought —I feel the same way. I am constantly reminded of the amorphous depth that exists within another human, how a thousand strangers around me resemble a thousand kaleidoscopic constellations of unparalleled perspectives and untold narratives. I dwell among the fragments of our shared experience — recorded in the form of novels and films and essays that overflow with honesty — which, at the end of the day, leave me wide-eyed before the curious and inevitable experience that it is to be human. What fickle and detestable and resolute and heartening creatures that we are. If all else is rendered to be an illusion then this is what remains real.

At the same time, I often felt weary from social interactions . For most of my adolescence, I have been so hindered by my insecurities that I could barely see past it to perceive what actually matters. At heart I enjoyed meeting new people but social anxiety often felt like a more overpowering force. The fear of being judged and dismissed spilled over into quietness and shyness — a facet of my persona I never wanted to take ownership of because it spoke so intimately to my vulnerability.

At one point in time I came to conclude that somehow, my ability to form social connection with others must be defective. It all seems somewhat melodramatic from a distance away, but at the time, the gravity of it all felt tangibly real. In order to be worthy of connection, I felt as though I needed to be extroverted and at ease. I was not. I felt and noticed too much to carry an air of nonchalence. I was the awkward teen, treading upon invisible eggshells and carrying my over-sensitivities with a lack of grace.

In Present over Perfect, Shauna Niequist described how she felt as though she was perceiving everything through a lens of rejection. "When anyone opens their mouth to say anything at all, all I could hear is you are not good enough," she writes, precisely describing what resonates with me at an awkwardly private level. You are not good enough — everything became its echo. I did not dare second guessing because it felt like something unquestionable encoded into my narrative. Shame was my default and every interaction became a reinforcement of a belief that was never true.

So all along, I have been the author of my own rejection. A barren field sprawled across the landscape within and I thought that the acceptance and affection of others were the only flowers that could possibly take residence. If I were to unclench, I would discover that the seeds were all held within my still-clammy palms. Instead, I built walls to conceal that ever existed a field at all.

During a heated conversation with my boyfriend, I found myself tempted to withdraw. The chasm of difference between us was what drew me into the relationship in the very beginning, wide-eyed with curiosity at the potentiality that intimacy could contain. But in the moment, that chasm felt like an alienating barrier. We are so different.I think while biting my lips. But I do not love another merely for the reflection of myself that I see in the other. But this nebulous in-between of our differences is what stretches and grows me — making it all worthwhile.

Still all of a sudden I wanted to run the other way, letting the familar wave of shame wash over myself, believing once again that see — I was right about it after all. I do not deserve to belong so intimately with another. If I never allow myself to draw near then I do not have to experience the inevitable disappointment of it all.

In the wake of it I wonder — How do I dismantle these walls that I have sought safety within? It will not be an overnight process, but it will be worthwhile. I am learning to give myself the permission to draw near to belonging, showing up raw and fragmented and nevertheless worthy.

Gradually in the past year, these long-held tensions began to dissolve. I no longer feel as fearful in conversations and appear to be much more at ease with my own skin. The nervousness in my breath started to subside. My desire to be among others finally surpassing my fear of rejection.All of it unfolded like a sprout that has been struggling to bloom. On a seemingly ordinary spring day, sunlight permeated in and at last, the blossom emerges — like a long-awaited epiphany.

Perhaps it was something of a coming-of-age miracle, the insecurities that I carried were but characteristic of adolescence. Perhaps it has to do with the social isolation of the past year's pandemic, bringing the core need of connection and belonging into open exposure. Suddenly everyone was voicing the same longing that I have always felt pulsing beneath the surface of my skin. In this communal loneliness, I suddently felt less alone.

Perhaps it was the very gift within solitude that I have been invited into — both the place I desired to outrun from and where I unearthed my strength — learning to be at home within myself so I could be at ease among others. This process of distentangling and reconciling is somewhere I continue to abide.

I have believed that the reason this desperation to belong resided so vividly within me is because of an inherent inadequacy that I carried. I thought that this ache must have meant that I was broken — but it only meant that I am human, wired for connection and belonging. At the end of the day, with all shiny persona and saturated timelines aside, we are all rhythmed to a similar ache. We are merely fickle and detestable and resolute and heartening creatures navigating through this curious and inevitable shared experience of life. All of us, together in our solitude.

Another thing to mention is that, on occasions, I continue to feel a lingering disappointment for every abruptly ended conversation and carry around small inklings of grief for each acquaintance that I have lost in touch with. People are constantly coming and going. The silhouettes that knit the landscape around us are in a state of constant motion and sometimes the brevity of it all pains me.

Perhaps the disappointment that I experience is defined in equal magnitude by my expectation, from where I begin to view another person as a means to an end instead of as an end to themselves. I wish to instead send a love letter to the passengers — to somehow let them know that despite the ephemerality of our interaction and the ambiguous depth of our bond, I am grateful that at one moment in time, we had belonged together. And all of this is infathomably bigger than you and I. Any fragment of warmth will outlive our temporary interaction and dissolve as an escalating ripple.

For now, this is what I know to be true — I desire for nothing more than genuine smiles and candid conversations. I desire for nothing less but to dive beneath the surface and towards the nebulous ocean of our collective experience. I want to hold intent eye contact and ask sincere questions. I want to stand alongside you and feel empathy pulsing through us. I want to hold space for your story and be left in awe by how wildly different and terrifyingly similar that we are — you may never walk an inch in my shoes but you know my tears and joys and my longing to belong, as intimately as I know yours.

I am leaning into the chaos within, so I could see past the projection of my own insecurities and release the weight of expectations in order to perceive what actually matters. And all of this feels like liberation — sincerity at last.