Making friends is hard, but loneliness is harder
I generally hate the terms “introverted” and “extroverted”. Upon first glance, it would be easy to assume that these words mean shy and outgoing, respectively. Insular vs. loud. Awkward vs. dominating. An extrovert thrives in social situations, initiates drinking games at parties and yearns to be the centre of attention, while an introvert would much rather get cosy in bed with a cup of peppermint tea and a self-help book. Extroverts can’t stand solitude, and introverts shut down merely at the thought of interaction with other humans.
What a load of tripe.
Growing up as an only child meant spending a lot of time lost in my own thoughts — something associated with introversion. Despite this (and as much as I hate using these words), I would say that I naturally have more extroverted tendencies: I love getting to know new people and expanding my social circle, and spending genuine quality time with others — be it friends, vague acquaintances or complete strangers — brings me a lot of joy, to put it simply. My childhood, however, trained me in being introspective and reflective, while also allowing me to learn how to spend time alone and enjoy my own company.
Since high school and all my way through university, I have been lucky to have a lot of friends whom I deeply care about: school friends, friends of friends, just friends everywhere. My social circle has been large enough so that no matter where I happen to find myself, I always have at least a few people I can send a quick message to and spend time together. Perhaps we could just make dinner and watch Location Location Location, or grab a cheeky pint or six. Or just sit and scroll through Instagram on my bed — but the main thing is that I’m enjoying these moments together with another person. This is something that I am now realising I have taken for granted.

Full of optimism after graduating from university, I moved to a new country, pining for a new adventure and imagining all the new, exciting and interesting people I’m going to meet in this shiny, foreign faraway land. Yet here I am, four months down the road and feeling the loneliest I have possibly ever felt. For a while, I enjoyed spending time alone and discovering the city streets at my own pace, contemplating my life’s direction and pondering over philosophy. My newly-found independence and autonomy was great — for a while. Now it’s starting to wear me down.
I go for a solitary wander and walk past bustling bars where I see friends laughing. I see families strolling arm in arm through the cold, crisp night. I observe groups of people who look like me and my friends — but unfortunately it’s not a mirror image. I’m not looking at a reflection, but rather through a glass wall. I can see these friendships between the people around me in the streets, but I can’t touch them. Unfortunately it’s a bit weird to run up to people and demand to be their friend, otherwise I’d gladly take a hammer to the aforementioned glass wall and force these poor people to make memories with me.
This is where I really start to see the introversion/extroversion labels fall apart — I love people, and parties, and conversations running late into the night, but constantly trying to meet new people and not getting very far is exhausting. I want to be social, but the thought of trying to talk to people from a culture where small-talk is unappreciated and strangers have an ulterior motive is also kind of terrifying. I want a large circle of friends again, but the thought of sitting in bed and watching endless YouTube videos or chatting with my friends back at home seems a lot more appealing in the moment.
The combination of homesickness and reminiscence, combined with a sliver of jealousy, is truly tiresome. But this time alone is also a valuable life lesson: I always knew that my friends and relationships were important to me, but I’m now learning the extent of how important they are to my sense of fulfillment and well-being. After wallowing in perhaps a little too much self-pity occasionally, I’m starting to gain motivation to change my situation and find new valuable friendships — it’s going to be uncomfortable, but it’s necessary. Growing pains, if you wish.
Regardless of whether you’re more of an introvert or an extrovert, I believe that we all need regular quality interactions with others; after all, humans are social creatures and I don’t think we should be spending too much time alone. The definition of “too much” will definitely change from person to person, but ultimately, we need each other for the sake of our mental health and our survival (not to be dramatic).
I like being by myself sometimes, but I thrive on forming deep emotional connections with other people. Meeting new people can be draining, but loneliness is even worse. Something has to change: either I revert to my comfort zone and my cushy life at home, or I keep pushing and — hopefully — learn more about myself and this crazy new world around me.
