unlike most other religions, the baha’i faith forbids its followers to lead a monastic life. 

whilst prayer and meditation are recognised as our most powerful tools to communicate and connect with god, they ought to be accompanied by actions towards the betterment of society. something that, according to the writings, can only be achieved in community. 

it’s one of the faith’s beliefs i never particularly cared for. it makes sense, but the idea of god banning someone from leading a life of ultimate dedication also seemed illogical. i grew up visiting monks in burmese temples, admiringly watching them move, eat and drink with closed eyes, committing to silence, to slowness. a strength of character unfathomable to me.

surely the strengthening of one’s character strengthens the world around them?

seeking solitude is something that i’ve felt compelled to do for the last few years. in london i’d rarely spend an evening by myself, filling my time with drinks, or dancing, or dates, or dinners, avoiding my own company at all costs whilst incessantly complaining about “having no time to myself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”   

i romanticised aloneness and it ramified in all aspects of my life. i’d imagine all the things i would do with more me-time (learn to do the splits, get into gardening, write a book). i berated my need to share my writing, wishing i was someone that did it for the sake of it, journaling for self-improvement, not for external gratification. i viewed solo travelling as the ultimate way to do it, a virtuous sign of self-reliance. the need to be alone has also been the catalyst for all my romantic breakups, driven by an uncontrollable urge to prioritise myself. 

eventually, still frustrated at my struggle to fully lean into my own company, the chase for solitude sparked my decision to leave london. the only way in a way out. 

over the last two months, working at a station in the australian outback, solitude has finally found me. i’ve been accustomed to muttering a handful of words a day, leading a ~ simple life ~ of cooking, cleaning, stretching, reading, meditating, praying and galavanting. ‘it’s an opportunity of a lifetime’ i tell myself, as i train my mind, body, spirit to be the best they can be. i feel gratitude: for the introspection, for the access to nature, for the opportunity to learn. my manager today told me that even those who hate their time working at a station tend to look back on it with fondness. i’m sure i will too. 

last month i turned 31. whilst a bit of a nothing-age, i am a hardcore birthday stan - no one will ever convince me that another year on this earth isn’t a massive feat that deserves the biggest of celebrations. last year i went to tuscany with some of bestest friends, the year before loved ones poured into my home and stayed until the early hours of the morning, the year before we took over burgess park. this year was a little different: i went on a long walk, enjoyed my surroundings, napped, watched two films, was gifted a box of maltesers from one of the cowgirls. 

it was simple yet unique, i doubt i’ll ever have another one like it. it was also a day accompanied by a tinge of sadness, drunk on self-reflection, tired of processing, desperate to banter. 

people always tell me i make friends easily. there’s truth to it - plop me into any smoking area, from a wetherspoons to a fashion show, and i’ll become bestie with gary or florence, delusionally ignoring the look behind their eyes that lowkey sees me as a monstrosity. i’d assumed the same would happen this time. in between fetishisation and fear, i’d find a friend. 

that hasn’t been the case. maybe because i started the season late, like a post-casa love island bombshell awkwardly trying way too hard to befriend the girls. maybe because of our age (one of the kids is 16) or our identities (they are all white) or our culture (i am not a cowboy). maybe because of our political differences, evident whenever the topic is even slightly scratched. maybe because of an inherent incompatibility. maybe because i’ve presented myself somewhat inauthentically, swapping my crop tops for oversized t-shirts, self-policing the tone of faggotry in my voice, preemptively anticipating homophobia.

i’ve been feeling fourteen again. you will not catch me dead reciting the mixed-race-diasporic-kid-in-a-white-area narrative of not belonging but, also, yeah. 

and with this feeling of regression has come a realisation: i am completely uninterested in leading a life with no community. 

at 16, i was saved by the emos. my feelings of alienation towards the rest of the world were still present, but, this time, they were backed and supported. us vs the world. my differences cherished, not frowned upon. 

at 24, freshly out the closet, i wore my shortest shorts to a queer club night. i felt shy whilst having a friend take a photo of me. two girls started hyping me up, their screams of validation stay engraved in my brain to this day. 

at 28, i had an intense hook-up. after, i called a friend, and cried, and another, and cried, and left a voice note to another, and a voice note to another, and went for a walk with another. the guy was dl, i still wonder if he ever spoke to anyone about me. 

at 29, disillusioned, after years of diy collective work in grassroots projects and initiatives that would often end up in endless conflict resolution battles, i launched my own. i founded a magazine, fully operated by myself. i was productive and it was successful: it had regular readership, it was growing, it received funding. i was proud of it, but not stimulated. a year in, i asked a friend to join me. together, we made it better. it (we) was (were) imperfect, but a joy to work on. i was proud of us. 

in small and big ways, time and time again, community has saved me. 

self-growth, whether through intentional monasticism or unintentional life experiences, is fundamental, but being able to do something on your own doesn’t signify any moral superiority. on the contrary, being in partnership, in community, probably does. 

you are not proving anything to anyone by celebrating your birthday by yourself, or writing something that you’ll never share with anyone, or forcing yourself to solo travel if it’s not for you.

ultimately, what i’ve come to realise, is that learning to do the splits is not worth the sacrifice of laughter.