We all belong here.

Finishing high school means a chapter is closed, a world left behind.
Yet peace feels far away, hard to find.
The friends you thought would always stay slowly start to fade away.
There is a choice of a career, a chapter, a life to make, but none of it feels real, or fake.
The overwhelming pressure can sometimes make you truly feel alone.
We search for answers in all the wrong places, and end up in empty spaces.
There’s no guidance or rule book to the perfect adulthood.
And when the consistency around you fades unlike it should, it can sometimes make you feel lonely.

I've always been someone who finds comfort in routine, predictability, and pursuing dreams I've held close since childhood. As an autistic individual, the world often feels like a chaotic and overwhelming place. Having dreams and goals provided me with a sense of stability. For me, that dream was to work in childcare. I dedicated years to this dream, feeling a profound connection to the idea of nurturing young minds and creating safe spaces for children to grow and thrive. But life, as it often does, took me on a path I never anticipated, and it was filled with profound loneliness.

The first significant change came when I had to leave high school in Year 11. Bullying had become unbearable, and each day felt like I was walking into a storm without an umbrella. The teasing, the isolation, the feeling of being out of place—it all wore me down. I tried to stay strong, but the toll on my mental health became too much. My parents and I decided that homeschooling was the best option. While it was a relief to leave the hostile environment, it also meant stepping away from the small social circle I had. My days became quieter, the kind of quiet that feels heavy rather than peaceful. I missed the chatter of classmates, even if it wasn't directed at me, and the sense of being part of something bigger.

Still, I pushed forward. I poured myself into my studies, holding tightly to my dream of working in childcare. I told myself that this was temporary, that once I graduated, I could rebuild. And for a while, it seemed like things were falling into place. I started my traineeship in childcare and felt a sense of purpose. I loved watching the children grow, their curiosity and creativity reminding me why I chose this path. But as time went on, cracks began to form.

The job was emotionally and physically demanding, and I often felt overwhelmed. I struggled with the fast-paced environment and the constant social interactions. I began to question if I was cut out for this, if my dream was truly attainable. But admitting that felt like admitting failure, and the thought of letting go of something I'd worked so hard for was devastating.

Eventually, I made the difficult decision to step away from childcare. It wasn't an easy choice; it felt like I was walking away from a piece of myself. I transitioned to retail, a field I'd never imagined myself in. While it was less emotionally taxing, it came with its own challenges. The loneliness I felt during this period was profound. I was grieving the loss of a dream and trying to navigate a new path that didn't feel like mine. I missed the connection I had with the children, the sense of making a difference in their lives. In retail, I often felt like a cog in a machine, replaceable and unseen.

Throughout these changes, loneliness was a constant companion. It wasn't just the physical isolation or the lack of familiar faces; it was the sense that no one truly understood what I was going through. People would tell me to stay positive, to focus on the opportunities ahead, but their words felt hollow. I wanted someone to sit with me in my grief, to acknowledge the weight of what I was carrying.

Over time, I've learned to find small pockets of connection and meaning. I've started to see that it's okay for dreams to change and that stepping away from something doesn't mean I've failed. I've discovered strengths I didn't know I had and begun to explore new interests. But the loneliness still lingers, a quiet reminder of the path I've walked.

If I could offer advice to others navigating big life changes, it would be this: your feelings are valid, even the hard ones. It's okay to grieve what you've lost while also making space for what's to come. And most importantly, you're not alone, even when it feels like you are. There are people who want to listen, to understand, and to walk alongside you as you navigate the twists and turns of life. Your voice and experience matter, and they deserve to be heard.

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i had finished highschool
covid hit
i managed to finish my university degree
i didn't get into my postgraduate course
i started to question why i even wanted to pursue my career pathway
whether i was even the person who wanted to
i wasn't
my parents were disappointed in me
an who i'd become
everything started becoming a pursuit of why i'd failed
why i didn't achieve what i was meant to
my siblings were all fine, pursuing what they'd 'set out to'
their partners
my friends
my partner
no one else was experiencing this
disappointment
frustration
loneliness
i didn't know what to do with myself
who i was
what i was meant to do
it was lonely, being in that world
i wasn't able to fulfill the wishes of the worlds i'd been in
the worlds i were meant to be in
instead
i had to navigate my own world
find my own world
with time, loneliness slowly welcomed time alone
and now im building
upon my own world
my people, my purpose

I don’t know how to begin this, but I’ll try my best. For most of my childhood, everything felt normal. I was born in 2007 and lived in India with my uncle and maternal grandparents, whom I lovingly called Mom and Dad. My life was simple, surrounded by the warmth of a family that made me feel safe.

Every year, on my birthday, my biological mother would visit from Melbourne, bringing gifts and surprises. To me, she felt more like a special guest than a parent, someone who came with love and presents, but never stayed long enough to become part of my everyday life. Then came 2020. I was 13, and everything began to change. The once-happy home started to fill with tension. There were constant arguments and stress over things I couldn’t understand.

By 2021, I found out the painful truth: my father had filed a legal case against my grandfather and uncle. All the chaos was over money and property. My mother had decided she would no longer provide financial support, which ignited everything. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the cracks in my family. My parents had been living in separate countries—my mom in Australia, my dad in a different Indian state, while I was raised by my maternal family.

And then, by mid-2022, my parents finalized their divorce. That period was one of the most difficult times of my life. It wasn’t just about legal battles or financial issues, it was about watching the people I loved break under the weight of betrayal and pain. My mother came to India personally to sign the divorce papers. A few days before she was set to return to Melbourne, everyone decided it would be best for my future if I went with her. But I wasn’t ready. How could I be? I was a child being asked to leave everything I knew, my home, my country, my friends, my school, and the only family I truly felt connected to; to live with someone who, despite being my mother, was practically a stranger. I didn’t have time to process the divorce, the fights, or the idea of leaving.

I had just a week to say goodbye to everything and everyone. I packed my belongings, but I couldn’t pack the memories. If it didn’t fit in the suitcase, it felt like I had to forget it, maybe forever. The emotional toll was unbearable. I cried in secret, locked away in the toilet, sometimes three times a day, overcome by fear and confusion. Learning the truth about my father was another shock that made me feel even more lost.

When I moved to Melbourne, it felt like I had been ripped out of my world. I had hallucinations and dreams of my family back home. The emptiness inside me was overwhelming. I had never even changed schools before, and now I had changed countries. Everything was unfamiliar, the culture, the language, the people. The first six months were hell. School offered little support, and cultural differences made it hard to make friends. I had no real support system, and my relationship with my mother was distant.

I was alone in every sense of the word. But somehow, I made it through. I focused on my studies, even though my heart was still stuck in the past. Year 11 and 12 were emotionally draining. I constantly thought about going back. I wanted to return to the life I knew, to the people I loved. Eventually, I decided to stay, not because I felt at home, but because everyone believed it was better for my future. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Loneliness became a silent companion through it all. But so did resilience. I still miss my family and i know they miss me too, and my only dream is that one day we all are together again, it doesn’t matter where as long as we are together.

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我的双眼望向天空

在能听见江的阁楼里

汽笛阵阵传来

浪声忽明忽暗

捉摸不定

就像你的心

我把自己拜托给回忆和长江

爱情 是一

个人的事情

存在于

我和我的阁楼里

My eyes look up to the ceiling.

In the attic where I can hear the river, the horns come and go.

The sound of the waves are sometimes vibrant and sometimes dim.

It is unpredictable.

Just like your heart.

I entrust myself to memories and the Yangtze River.

Love is a personal matter.

It exists in me and my attic.

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