I’ve always been comfortable being alone.

Not in a dramatic, poetic way. Not as a statement. It’s just something that settled into me early and never really left.

I was an only child, and opening up to people never came easily. I grew up around a lot of unnecessary drama, the kind you don’t choose and can’t control. I was expected to be the disciplined one. Don’t talk back. Don’t complain. Don’t make a fuss. Be quiet. Be good. Be invisible. Being sensitive didn’t help either.

Somewhere along the way, I learnt that being by myself felt safer. If you’re alone, you don’t give anyone the chance to hurt you, insult you, or turn something small into something ugly. Staying in your own space meant fewer risks. Less noise. Less trouble. It became a survival skill before it became a preference.

There were other things too. Moving to India, being a painfully skinny kid at first, then later becoming an obese one. Falling sick often. Struggling with confidence. All of it made retreating into my own world feel like relief. Being alone wasn’t loneliness. It was protection. It was peace.

That habit stayed with me, but over time, it changed shape.

These days, I genuinely enjoy my own company. I love reading, walking, writing, cooking for myself, ordering food in, staying in, watching shows, travelling alone. All of it brings me joy. Being alone gives me space to think, to process, to reset. I don’t talk much about my problems to others. I deal with things internally. Quietly. I’ve always been that person for myself.

Ironically, I’m also that person for a lot of my friends. The listener. The one people call to vent, to unload, to make sense of their mess. I’m happy to be that. But I need solitude to balance it out. I need time alone to recharge my batteries so I can show up again as a functioning, patient, normal human being.

There are people I spend time with who leave me feeling energised, refreshed, lighter. They’re rare, and I treasure them deeply. Those are the people I can travel with. Sit in silence with. Be fully myself around. But most interactions still require recovery time, and I’ve stopped pretending otherwise.

I don’t think people misunderstand this about me, or if they do, it’s not something I carry. If someone assumes loneliness or sadness where there is none, that’s their projection, not my reality. I know the difference between being alone and feeling lonely. I’ve never felt lonely. Alone, yes. Comfortable with it, absolutely.

If loneliness ever does try to creep in, it doesn’t last long. A quick reminder of the drama that often comes attached to people is usually enough to restore my appreciation for solitude.

As I’ve grown older, my relationship with being alone has only deepened. There’s a saying in Hindi that has always stayed with me: khaali haath aaye the, khaali haath jaayenge. You come into this world empty-handed, and you leave it the same way. Alone. That thought doesn’t scare me. It grounds me. It reminds me that this journey is ultimately ours to walk individually, no matter how many people join us along the way.

I’m happiest in my own company because I don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations. I don’t have to perform. I can simply be. And that peace, for me, is priceless.

— Raulito