We all belong here.

Loneliness, to me, is when you feel alone in the world. Like no one can understand or relate to your struggles. Loneliness is not having a community or strong social circle to fall back on. Loneliness, to me, is feeling afraid and tired. Loneliness, to me, is falling into short-term escapisms. Many people go through this every day across the nation and globally. It is a growing issue amongst the youth, and with the lack of community amongst young people, it is more important than ever to foster a sense of comradery amongst young people.

It took me almost one year to find work after graduating from University. At times, I wouldn’t even mention to my friends that I was looking for work. There was definitely a lot of pressure on myself, especially as a fresh graduate. I felt ashamed to ask my friends for help and just applied for work as much as possible. Even though this journey was challenging and rather lonely, I tried my best to endure obstacles during my transition from University to starting work. Since I didn’t tell my friends that I was going to start work, no one except my previous supervisors from my placements helped enhance my job application.

When I started work, I had to adapt to a new reality and worked longer hours than a 9-5. I would keep my struggles a secret from my friends as there were times where I would feel so tired and go to sleep immediately, after going home from work. I’m still very grateful to begin a career and I realised that everyone’s journey from University to work is often non-linear and different. Journaling to myself and meditation helps me cope with work-related challenges. I hope that work will be smooth because I feel more comfortable sharing the positive in my life with everyone.

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This piece was written during a time when I felt completely disconnected from the life that I thought I’d be living by now.

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When I turned 23,
the world around me sped up, degrees
finished, careers started,
paths unfolding with names like
teacher, nurse, manager,
certified, employed, promoted.
People around me were finding their rhythmposting
updates that sounded like progress,
moving forward with certainty,
direction, pride.
But me?
I was surrounded by unfinished sentences,
half-attempts, loose ends.
A future written in maybes
and question marks.
I was stuck.
Job to job.
Course to course.
Searching for something
that felt like me.
But nothing did.
I was searching for meaning
in ruins.
In the aftermath of trauma
that clung to me like a second skin.
The world expected me to know-
Who I was.
What I wanted.
Where I was going.
But I didn't.
I had no map.
No compass.
Not even a vague idea
of what I liked,
what I stood for,
who I was beyond survival.
And in the space where identity should have lived,
loneliness took root.
It didn't live in silence,
it lived in the quiet ache
of scrolling through lives that moved forward
while mine stood still.
It lived in the pretending.
Pretending I was okay.
Pretending I had direction.
Pretending I didn't notice
how far behind I felt.
It was the feeling of being lost
in a world where everyone else
seemed to know the way.
Alone in the ocean,
no lighthouse in sight.
But it's hard to say it out loud-
Does speaking it
make it more real?
Does admitting it
draw attention?
Will people finally see
just how far behind I amand
laugh,
or leave?
What if saying "I'm lonely"
only makes the people disappear faster?
What if saying “I’m lonely”
makes me disappear faster?
But
I'm still here.
Even if I don't have a title,
a house,
or a five-year plan.
I have breath.
I have softness.
And a quiet kind of strength
that comes from surviving
when no one else sees the storm.
I'm still here.
And maybe that's something.
Maybe being lost
is just the beginning
of being found.

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At 23, I watched the people around me find their paths—graduating, starting careers, building lives with structure and direction—while I was just trying to hold myself together. I’d dropped out of uni, changed jobs more times than I could count, and felt like I was constantly searching for something solid to stand on. But nothing felt like it fit.

I wasn’t just unsure of my future—I was unsure of myself. I didn’t know what I liked, what I believed in, or who I was beyond the survival mode I’d lived in for years. That’s where the loneliness really crept in. Not just being physically alone, but feeling like no one could see the version of me that was struggling to keep up. Like if I admitted I was lost, everyone would pull away even faster.

Writing this helped me make sense of that foggy, stuck space. It was a way of reassuring myself: I may not have everything figured out, but I’m still here. I’m still trying. And that counts for something.

If anyone else feels the same—uncertain, behind, like they’re floating through their twenties without a map—I hope this is a reminder that you’re truly not alone.

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Growing up I had struggled with accepting that loneliness would be a part of my life. Loneliness is bad. When I feel lonely then I’m not doing well. When I’m lonely I need to change.
Loneliness comes in many forms, at any time and place. It happens when I’m with others. It happens when I think I’m not alone. It happens sometimes frequently and sometimes not.
But I’ve come to accept loneliness as a part of the human experience. As something we observe and make friends with.

To me, loneliness can feel vast and endless. It can feel all-encompassing. When I graduated high school, my experience was one not of excitement but of grief and isolation. My loneliness might have been silent, but it was not invisible. It was the school bag that I couldn’t bring myself to move from its usual spot for over a year. It was holding myself together through a university class only to cry the whole drive home. It was being with my friends and holding a smile until I was out of sight.

I chose the girl in this image because loneliness is not just emotional, but also physical pain. It is having to wrap your arms around yourself because there’s no one to do it for you. It is counterintuitively shrinking your world and your connections because to be around people is to be more acutely aware of how alone and separate you feel. I chose to place her in a sky though – not only to symbolise loneliness as pervasive and heavy, but also because looking at the stars has always been an experience of awe for me.

Looking at the stars makes me feel small, in a comforting, grounding way. Seeking out awe and wonder was something that has helped me feel less lonely – to know we are all connected on one planet, and nothing matters as much as we think it does. The stars were here long before I was and will be here long after my lifetime and I find solace in knowing that everyone and everything eventually finds their way, and their place in the family of things.

The night sky is also something that, the longer you look at it, the more stars you are able to see – in my experience, whilst it may seem like no one else around you is feeling the same way, chances are that if you have the courage to start a conversation, you will be met with “me too”. The more we talk about loneliness, the more we realise that sometimes those around us also feel the same – we are not lone stars in the night…there are many of us; separated yes, but also together. The more we talk and share and connect, the brighter the sky.