November 19, 2025
another day etched not by achievement or connection, but by presence. By showing up when no one else did. Or at least, when no one else showed up with me.
I walked into college at 8:30 a.m., earlier than most, driven less by enthusiasm and more by the quiet inertia of obligation. My classroomusually echoing with chatter, laughter, or the occasional argument over group projectswas silent. Empty chairs. Empty desks. Just me. Later, I'd learn that six or seven others from my class had come to campus... but not to our room. They sat in other classrooms, laughing with friends who weren't me. Friends who mattered more. Friends they chose over the awkward silence I seem to carry like a shadow.
Did it hurt? Of course it did. But I've gotten good at wrapping pain in layers of indifference. "I care," I thought, "but I don't give a fuck." It's a contradiction I live in dailya heart that feels too much wrapped in a persona that pretends it doesn't feel at all.
So I sat. Alone. Pulled out my phone. Scrolled through reelsbright, loud, chaotic snippets of lives that seem so much fuller than mine. People dancing, traveling, hugging, celebrating. Moments stitched together with joy I haven't felt in a long time. I watched until my eyes grew heavy, and then I slept. Right there in the classroom, head resting on the cool laminate of the desk, the hum of the ceiling fan my only lullaby.
I woke around noon, stomach growling. Lunchtime. I walked to the canteen, ordered my usual, and ate slowlyat a table for one. No conversation, no shared jokes, no borrowed fries. Just me and my thoughts, which, honestly, are rarely kind company. I ate half, like I always do. Not because I wasn't hungry, but because finishing a meal feels like admitting I deserve it. And some days, I'm not sure I do.
After lunch, I returned to the empty classroom and slept again. Not out of tirednessthough my body aches constantlybut out of a strange desire to skip time. To fast-forward through the emptiness. Sleep became my escape, my mute button on a day that offered nothing but echoes.
I woke at 3 p.m. Restless. Unmoored. I couldn't stay in that room any longer. So I wandered. The campus, usually buzzing, felt oddly quiet. I passed seniors I recognizedfriendly faces, familiar voices. For a moment, I walked with them. Shared a few words. Laughed at something trivial. It felt... normal. Human. But then they remembered their own plans, their own circles, their own lives. And just like that, I was alone again.
And then I saw them.
My ex-bestfriends. The ones who once knew my secrets, my fears, my dreams. Now strangers in everything but shared history. They stood near the college gate, taking picturesposing, smiling, arms around each other like nothing had changed. Like we hadn't changed. They didn't see meor if they did, they pretended not to. No wave. No nod. No "Hey, long time." Why would they? I'm not part of their story anymore. Maybe I never really was.
I stood there for a moment. Watching. Wondering what it would feel like to still belong. Then I turned away. Whatever. The word echoed in my head like armor. Whatever. It's fine. I'm fine.
I walked to my bus stop, the weight of the day pressing on my shoulders like a second skin. I found my bus, climbed aboard, and slumped into a seat. Closed my eyes. Let the engine's rumble lull me into another kind of sleepone that wasn't quite rest, but not quite wakefulness either. A liminal space where feelings blur and time stretches thin.
(And then I was home. Or imagined I was. Because I'm not, not yet. But soon. The day would end. It always does. I'd lie on my bed, stare at the ceiling, replay every moment of solitude, every glance that didn't land, every silence that spoke louder than words. I'd drink water from my cool bottle, press it to my forehead like I always do on sleepless nights. Maybe eat a snack I don't need. Watch a modded game unfold on my screenanother world where I can be someone else, if only for an hour. And then I'd sleep again, not because I want to, but because tomorrow will come whether I'm ready or not.)
But here's the thing: I showed up.
Even when no one else did. Even when it felt pointless. Even when the loneliness wrapped around me like fog. I went. I sat. I walked. I breathed through it. That's not nothing. It might not feel like couragebut it is. It's the quiet, stubborn kind of bravery that doesn't get applause. The kind that says, "I'm still here," even when the world acts like it hasn't noticed.
Maybe that's enough for today.
Maybe it has to be.
Because tomorrow, I'll probably do it all again. Not because I believe things will changebut because somewhere deep down, beneath the exhaustion and the hurt, there's still a flicker. A whisper of that old hope: Where there is life, there is hope.
And as long as I'm breathing, I haven't lost it yet.