We all belong here.

Navigating loneliness over the span of almost 14 years, I have learnt that it is a key part of who I am and although I struggle with it, it's the realisation that travelling this journey of loneliness alone is what I can no longer do and that there is a key difference between being lonely and being alone.

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Lonely but not Alone
For one of the most common experiences, it sure feels rare.
It feels rare to not pinpoint the cause of this hopelessness.
It feels rare to know more than one language yet feel a feeling I can’t quite articulate.
I am the most social I’ve ever been, yet I feel so isolated.
I found the love I dreamt of finding, yet I’ve never felt so desolate.
I was selected for the job I wanted so badly, yet I’ve never felt so incompetent.
I acquired the education I thought I’d never acquire, yet I’ve never felt so unaccomplished.
I write to explore my thoughts but my words are the ones that overwhelm me.
I cry to release my pent up emotions but my tears are the ones that tire me.
I therapize my brain to get help me get better but it is therapy that confronts me.
I seek people in the hopes they’ll understand me but it is them who criticise me.
I thought I’d come to terms with the loneliness,
it took reconnecting with my roots and an Urdu song to learn that
I had some element of acceptance but it was traveling this journey of loneliness alone
that I could no longer do.

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Looking towards the unknown possibility as a chance to reinvent self.
Hiding self, expression and personality, wanting to break out but hesitant because of unfamiliarity.
The building blocks represent a chance to start new.
Who do I want to be?
Where do I want to be?
What do I want to be?

He had sent them to spy me.
Black grace dancing through clouds on the pale Moon’s night.
Feathery, leathery wings, eyes beady in thought and memory.
Watching and diving as I cast my magic unto reality; something from nothing.

I wander the forests of the Olde Gods, dense and unwelcoming.
I hear the wild hunts ensue. Mortals gifted or dying.
I beware the faerie hills, the homes of the Sidhe.

These dark angels follow, like Sköll chasing the Sun over Her horizon, watching and diving.
No flash of thunder, crack of lightning, born from a bottle, battle or windswept cave would deny them.

I went where none could follow;
The Lands of the Dead, crowds of the lifeless, souls unwelcome and unworthy in Valholl.
The Peaks of Maradi, demons and dark-ones, hollow teeth and long, my blood sings in my veins.
The all-consuming Blodbylgje, the Nine Daughters; Blodghadda, Bylgja, Drofn, Dufra, Heivring, Himinglaeva, Hronn, Koltga, Unrn.
Yet still they followed, watching and diving, watching and diving.

I travelled to the Cavern of Al’Cathere, the Cailleach Mother, birthplace of witches of rock and sea and air and green, fire bright in our wild eyes.
Yet still, they watched and dived.

So, me and my sisters raised our wands and voices,
Struck their feather with our swords as we did our bells.
We tied a knot to bind them in stone and water, flowing and unmoving.
Now I run and dance from Gungnr’s might, never watched nor dived.
Are you satisfied yet, Allfather?

My story is a creative prose regarding the feelings of the invisible audience that can come with loneliness, feeling both on the outside and object of everyone's discourse. At the end of the story, my character finds their community, with whom they are able to dispel the invisible audience. My tale draws inspiration from folklore and Norse myth, but transformed into my own unique story.

My art frames the visual aesthetics around the words “sorry for disturbing” because loneliness feels like not wanting to reach out for fear of annoying others. Especially as an international student, when I moved countries it felt like standing on a cliff – as depicted by the cliffs on the right. Moreover, the brown figures are supposed to be humans [below the word ‘disturbing], but there are people disconnected from the one person [left].