There comes a time in every person’s life when they find themselves living alone. At first, it feels like freedom: no flatmates eating your cheese, no one judging your Netflix choices, and complete autonomy over the thermostat. But give it enough time, which will differ for all of us, and something shifts. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But slowly, stealthily, you begin to ferment. And before you know it, you’ve turned into a weird little goblin version of yourself who argues with their AI Chat and calls the kettle “my precious”…
Living alone for too long means your wardrobe can become skewed: a dressing gown is your go to daily wear along with unmatched socks, and you don’t think twice about popping to the shops in April wearing a Christmas jumper (yes, it’s England and it’s not uncommon for us to get snow over Easter).
You eat cereal from a mixing bowl. You drink wine from the water bottle you took to the gym when you used to go. You’ve used a spatula as a plate for your pizza – “saves on the washing up” you point out if your Mum pops in; the truth is that the cuttlery drawer broke last summer and you’ve not had time to fix it yet.
You talk to the printer like it’s your colleague “Oh, you’ve decided to jam again, have you? Brilliant. No no, I’ve got all the time in the world, you temperamental plastic demon.” Then you apologise. Because you’re British. And also, slightly afraid it’s sentient, because it “knows” when you’re using knock off ink cartridges…
You’re so used to talking to your dog, your fridge, or yourself, that a real, breathing person feels like a VR simulation glitching in real time. So when the postman says “hello”, you panic and say “miss you” by accident. You try to wink and it comes out like you’re having a stroke. You close the door behind you knowing he’s going to tell all his colleagues … (he probably won’t, but in your mind, he’s already marked you as someone who needs their deliveries left with a neighbour).
Maybe you actually want to meet someone and have an old fashioned “date”. But wait…, someone else in your space? Someone who might move Keith the Kettle or judge your “emergency pot noodle stash” (all 3 drawers)? Will they find your tin labels all facing outwards a bit too “regimented”? You start wondering if love is worth having to close the bathroom door again.
However, I can’t end this ramble 6without a mention of the most gross mannerism I’ve seen: it may have started off innocently, just a scratch. Then one day you see them three knuckles deep on a video call with you, completely unbothered. And the worst part- they lower their hand and you don’t know where it’s been wiped… ” No. Stop that. If you’re hoping to re-enter society, particularly the romantic side of it, know this: nose mining is not a mating display.
Living alone is a beautiful, unhinged journey. It teaches independence, resilience, and how to dance in the kitchen wearing only your underwear with impunity. But let’s be honest; it also teaches us just how strange we really are when no one’s watching; so take heed and remember that if you’re planning to rejoin the human race: maybe start small. Wash the hoodie. Stop naming your electrical goods. And, never ever go bogey hunting on a video call, let alone in public…
Photo by Anton Luk
