As a tween and teen, I had never thought of myself as a socially awkward or reclusive individual. I was enrolled in all-girls schools up until junior college, and as a result, formed a tight-knit group of girlfriends along the way that did everything together: sleepovers, hitting the clubs, vacations sans parental supervision, and even summer school, which was our first big North American adventure that was (sort of) disguised as a learning experience abroad.
Even after we parted ways to different universities — some, including myself, stayed in Singapore, while others went overseas — we somehow managed to sync the time and place of our exchange semesters such that we pulled off a get-together in Europe. Being social and up for any form of hangout or gathering was never a consideration for me — until it was.
It was during a summer break in university that I had unintentionally spent two out of the three-month-long holiday at home. It didn’t even occur to me that I hadn’t left the house or had face time with anyone apart from my family for a prolonged period, until my sister asked me if I was doing okay. She’d joked that I was turning into an otaku (except I was really into British TV shows then, not anime), but in reality, she was concerned. And I was puzzled, as to why being alone suddenly seemed like the far more attractive agenda than meeting my closest friends.
The dry spell ended up passing as naturally as it had wafted over my social life, but something had changed. I started thinking twice, thrice even, before agreeing to a dinner or a night out. Afterwards, and no matter how late I’d returned home, I would wind down for an hour or two by watching a show, reading articles online, or checking out the season’s latest on my favourite e-tailers; I craved time alone, and it helped me function better the next day.
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