They say no man is an island but I think I am. Perhaps I am no ordinary man, for my own company is the one I most enjoy. Alone, is the only time I feel most alive. By myself, is the only time I seem to thrive. Or perhaps the life of solitude is just the one I’ve come to accept mine to be.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot compel myself to be a social creature that everyone expects me to be. No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to break out of this shell of aloofness that has become my daily existence.

Sometimes I can’t say for sure whether I am lonely or truly happy because even though my solitude existence may seem wretched and deprived to some of you, to me it is a pure source of joy. I don’t say much or seem to care much, but I do. Oh yes, I truly do.

I sometimes find it hard to verbally express my thoughts and emotions to people. But those who matter in my life don’t mind, for they understand the way I am. And the people that do mind don’t matter to me.

When it comes to the affairs of my heart, mine is a mysterious saga and often the most complex one to be comprehended by the feeble mind. Let me try and paint you a mental picture of why I believe that mine is the loneliest of souls with no hope of finding a mate.

I do have ways to maintain intimate relationships with people, but the past experiences I’ve had to endure, during my younger days, have made me rethink relationships in all personal forms. The death of my parents and the ailment of my physical being, made me want to not be loved too deeply or to love at all, lest I break my own or others’ hearts. The hauntingly vile and dark thoughts about the whole concept of getting too attached to people, only to lose them in a blink of an eye, have turned me into this isolated person that I am.

My mind is plagued by thoughts that make me rather reluctant to find a mate. Whenever I am in love it is like an ice cube, tickling its trail of numbness behind. I feel queasy but content, nervous but excited. It is the ultimate feeling of fear and hope combined. When I am loved it is like cold hands touching me. It is pleasing but frightening. I feel uncomfortable, and though I am sitting on a fluffy pink cloud, I feel alone.

Just like the Genevan philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau, I’ve come to believe that tender and agreeable sentiments steal into the soul. And by the smallest opposition, wound up into the most impetuous fury such as jealousy kindled with love, discord triumphs, and the gentlest of passions requires sacrifice of human blood to appease it.

I was condemned to this sickly excuse of a life by those who gave it to me. And I know how miserable it can all be for one to lead a life of pain, shame and misery, especially if it’s not the choice that one has consciously made. I cannot bring myself to condemn another to this worst fate of mine. Thus, I restrain myself of all sorts of entanglements, not because I don’t care for anyone, no! On the contrary, I sure hope that my reason for keeping intimate love and relationships at bay are sound. I hope they are plausible to you, especially my family, friends and acquaintances. For I hold a belief that it is all for my own good and to the good of those I care about.

Like the ideal man I believe I am, I have every intention of bearing the accident of my life with dignity and grace. And to make the best out of my dreadful circumstances, all by myself.


Tell us: Do you think it’s good for man to be alone?