On enforced loneliness, being a witness, and finding ourselves
Logs · 13 Apr 2025 · 4 min read
💭 On the Architecture of Loneliness
You can live in a city of ten million people and still feel like no one sees you.
That’s the strange thing about modern loneliness. It’s not just about being alone, it’s about how the world around us makes connection harder, even when we’re surrounded by people.
I am going to talk about three things here to elaborate on this: Cities, Screens & Schedules.
Cities stack us on top of each other but rarely bring us together. Apartments with thin walls and closed doors. Public spaces designed to keep us moving, not sitting. We pass by faces all day, but don’t make eye contact. Everyone has somewhere to be, something to do, no time to stop.
Then there are the screens. Always buzzing, always updating. We check messages, scroll feeds, reply with emojis. But how much of it feels real? How often do we leave a conversation feeling more connected; not less?
And schedules. Hyper-efficient, color-coded, tightly packed. Meetings, deadlines, gym, errands. Productivity has become a kind of religion. But somewhere in the rush, we forget to be with each other in the way that actually matters: fully present.
We often think of loneliness as a personal issue, a private emotion. But what if it’s not just internal? What if the way our environments are built, digitally and physically, is part of the problem?
Maybe it’s not you. Maybe you’re not “bad at reaching out” or “too introverted.” Maybe the systems around you are built for speed, not depth. For visibility, not intimacy.
So, what do we do?
Maybe we start small. A real conversation without multitasking. A shared silence that isn’t awkward. A walk without headphones. A friend seen not just through a screen, but across a table.
Not everything needs to be efficient. Some things—like connection—need slowness, attention, and space.
💭 On Being a Good Witness
Sometimes a friend breaks down mid-sentence. They say they’re “fine,” but their voice gives them away. And there you are, wanting to help, unsure what to say.
The instinct is to fix. Offer advice. Lighten the mood. Say something comforting or wise. But often, the most powerful thing you can do is... nothing. Just stay.
Being a good witness means letting someone feel what they’re feeling, without trying to edit the moment. Not interrupting. Not analyzing. Just listening.
It sounds simple, but it’s hard. We want to ease their pain. We want to “help.” But in the process, we often center ourselves. We rush to respond, when all they needed was space to be heard.
Presence isn’t passive. It’s active in a quiet way. It’s the choice to hold space, to stay grounded, to be there without flinching, even when the other person is angry, scared, or falling apart.
And there’s a kind of sacredness in that. In saying, “I won’t run. I’m here. Your truth matters, even the messy, painful, uncertain parts.”
We don’t have to be therapists or healers. Just human. And in a world, that’s constantly trying to fix, reframe, or scroll past discomfort, presence is its own kind of care.
💭 On This Poem
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I lost myself, or was I just someone else? Am I the one who talks to you, or the one who talks to myself? A friend, foe, child, parent, lover, soul, flesh? A face in the crowd, or a faceless guess? This soil, air, water, or the whole universe? Am I searching for myself in this little verse?
Some poems don’t give answers. They hold up a mirror—and ask questions that don’t resolve, just echo.
This one feels like that.
It’s a kind of quiet identity crisis. A reflection on how we’re never just one thing. Sometimes we’re loud, sometimes invisible. Sometimes sure of who we are—other times completely lost.
We all play roles: friend, partner, stranger, thinker, dreamer. Some we choose. Some are chosen for us. And sometimes we don’t know where one ends and another begins.
The poem doesn’t try to answer who we are. It just holds the question gently, like it knows the search is the point.
🎀Until next time...
Let’s not rush to offer solution, instead give our attention to others - to friends, family and people around us. To build, keep, and strengthen our connections.
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