The Brightest Sun, The Loneliest Star. 

“We’re a little weird like that.” 

My uncle jovially said this to my mother as she spoke to him through FaceTime. She had just broken the news to him that her daughter (yours truly) was about to fly the nest to be on her own. She said to him, “That’s what she wants, is to be by herself and do whatever she likes without anyone bothering her.” I remember smiling to myself as I filled my glass with water and stepped back into my bedroom. I kept an ear out to their conversation, curious to see what his response would be. I heard him laugh his halted, throaty laugh and he said, “Good for her, we (our family) are a little weird like that. We like to be alone.” And my mother agreed as I took a seat back on my bed and considered my uncle to be one of the wisest people I know. 

Almost 6 months later and I still consider this talk as precious. 

I often wonder to myself if indeed I am a little weird for liking to be alone. To be someone who take solace in silence and finds comfort in her own presence. To be someone who isn’t afraid to be left with their thoughts, or feel the great urgency to frequent large friendship groups. I consider if I am a little strange. But then thinking about my uncle’s comment, I realise maybe I am not so off centre as I think I am. Both my mother and her brother agree with me; they appreciate the time they have alone also. 

And I come to see with razor clarity that in fact, being alone is my energy source. My own internal battery recharges itself with total silence, without the need of others to fuel that fire. Though I adore my friends with fierce loyalty and gratitude, there are moments where the gas tank runs low and only I can complete the refill. 

I am soon to be 26. The wrong side of 25. And yet none of that bothers me, because my whole life I have been what I am with varying degrees of dissonance and insecurity: I am the only child of two Latin-American immigrants, lover of words and music, glasses wearer, wannabe punk superstar. It’s always been me and no one else who has survived herself, hated herself and learned to love herself once more. 

I’m a little weird like that.