We all belong here.

At the start of this year I discovered my first ever partner, who I was with for 18 months, was cheating on me. She was my world - and I devoted so much time and energy to growing into a better person for her, and myself.

Since then it has been a battle, a struggle between the sides of my brain - to try and pull myself together after having half of who I am suddenly removed. Like a tapestry with every 2nd row removed, I felt frayed and worn.

Trying to unravel those threads, and weave back together *me* is something I am still working on. While I know what I value, and care about - it feels like my identity has shifted to something I have yet to truly understand or know.

Loneliness is this ever present cloud that lingers. Sometimes it rains. Hard. It feels like I am drowning with how quickly the rain comes down, and I have to weather the storm anyway I know how. Other times, it lingers in the distance. A soft drizzle, not enough to draw my focus away from what I am doing - but enough to keep me constantly reminded of the fact I am now alone.

I've tried my hardest to use this time in my life to grow as much as I can. To become a better person from the pain of a first love failed. It would be so easy to let myself spiral into the self-fulfilling cycles of beating myself up, the could-haves, should-have-beens, and whatnot.

As my life shifts drastically from what it once was, and I face a future with no one by my side - it is hard to remain optimistic. As a man, I am not asked or checked up on. The few people in my life don't ask how I am doing. I don't blame them, but it still hurts.

I face this time in my life alone for the most part. Not so much a support network but an emergency fall-back. That's a hard thing to face, the fact that despite your best efforts and what you would do for others - those in your life just don't reach out. Not out of maliciousness, but just due to what seems to be the norm for us.

In the meantime - I write songs. I journal. Putting the constant buzz of thoughts down into words allows me to make more sense of them, and simultaneously I hope that maybe someone else reads them and can draw some help or solidarity from it.

I pushed the alarm with the grace of a sleepy sloth, fully prepared to drag myself out of bed and face yet another dreary school day. But then—cue the magic words—Mom’s cheerful voice chimed in, “Wake up! Your summer holidays have begun! We’re off to Grandma and Grandpa’s today!”

Instant energy surge. I leapt out of bed as if the floor were made of trampoline springs. Just like that, the suitcase was zipped, the snacks were packed, and the car smelled of ripe mangoes, travel excitement, and unfiltered childhood joy. June meant sticky fingers from devouring mango pulp, long train rides with window-seat battles, and grandma’s bottomless jars filled with homemade treats that mysteriously never ran out.

It was the season of chasing dragonflies, collecting pebbles like treasure, and sneaking spoonfuls of pickles from the ceramic jars on the terrace. Grandpa's stories were an endless loop of legends and life lessons, always ending with a wise smile and, “Back in my day…”

The ceiling fans whirred above us like sleepy helicopters, lulling us into afternoon naps on cool floor mats. Nights were reserved for rooftop star-counting contests and mosquito-chasing marathons. Every day was soaked in sunshine, laughter, and the gentle hum of a simpler time.

Cut to 24 years later.

My alarm goes off. I’m still reluctant to get up—some habits are eternal—but now two little faces peek in and whisper, “Mumma, today’s the start of our holidays!” I smile, a deep, nostalgic smile, the kind that touches the heart like a familiar old song. It's June again.

Now, I’m the one folding clothes, triple-checking chargers, and yelling, “Don’t forget your toothbrush!” The suitcase never closes on the first try, and the car, once again, is filled with the familiar aroma of mangoes and anticipation.

We play “Who spots it first?” just like I did with my cousins. I pack games for the kids, but I know they’ll abandon them soon for their Nintendo, and I remember myself running barefoot in the courtyards and playing hide and seek  and long lake walks.

Mom still makes her legendary family favorites.Dad still insists on showing everyone the old photo albums, now more fragile than before. The kitchen still bursts with the sound of ladles clinking against pots, and the clock ticks slower somehow, as if June itself doesn’t want the moment to pass.

As the journey unfolds, I glance in the rearview mirror at my giggling children. Suddenly, I’m ten again—swinging under the trees, arguing over board games, and believing that Grandma’s cookies and crochet patterns could solve world problems.

June isn’t just a month. It’s a golden time capsule, a beautifully bound diary of memories that smell of sun, sand and stories. In fact, all my writing skills will run out trying to capture the memories of all these years.

As the proverb goes, “Time and tide wait for no man,” but thankfully, June always waits for me—with open arms, mango-stained smiles, and the heartwarming comfort of coming home.

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Where was I when everyone else was making friends?
and will there be a catch up session for those of us who missed it?

A group of people talking about what loneliness represents to them, being isolated and each having their own individual experiences with loneliness. But on the other hand, it’s a group of people who together feel lonely and end up connected.

When I began my first position in the construction industry, I was one of only three females in the office and also among the youngest employees. This made it challenging to establish meaningful connections with my colleagues. Consequently, I had to navigate not only the complexities of starting my professional career but also the specific barriers inherent to the industry.

There were several moments that felt particularly isolating, especially given that many of my friends and family had limited understanding of my career aspirations. Upon securing my role as an Estimator, I often encountered the question, ""What does that mean?"" Explaining my role in a way that resonates with those outside the construction field proved difficult, which hindered my ability to brainstorm solutions to various challenges.

Another notable experience was during an end-of-financial-year celebration, where I found that none of the directors resembled me. This raised questions about whether my interests would be genuinely considered.

Fortunately, during my time in my role, I have witnessed a positive shift in the office's diversity, with a significant increase in the representation of women and younger employees. Including more females in senior positions. Additionally, I have connected with organizations focused on mentoring individuals in similar roles, which has greatly enhanced my professional network and sense of belonging within the industry.

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