I feel like I'm becoming more paradoxical every day. I don't even know how to explain it anymore. Maybe you'd call me a hypocrite—and honestly, I wouldn't blame you.
Right now, I'm happy being single. I'm doing well in life. I'll be 18 in six months, and I've started earning money through freelancing. I invest everything I make into my future, and if you look at me as just another 17-year-old developer, I guess that's fine. From the outside, it probably looks like I'm doing great.
And for the most part, I am. I love being alone. I enjoy my own company, and I feel content. But lately, something has been eating at me. When I scroll through social media and see my friends with their partners, I feel this strange emptiness inside. It's not that I want to be in a relationship—I really don't. But at the same time, I wish I could feel the way they do. I want to experience that kind of connection, even though I know it's not something I need right now.
Social media is a paradox in itself. On one hand, it connects us to the world; on the other, it disconnects us from our sense of self. People often say social media is a highlight reel—a curated gallery of perfect moments, filtered realities, and exaggerated lifestyles. And yet, even knowing this, I find myself drawn to it.
Every scroll intensifies my insecurities: how I look, how my voice sounds, how I walk, how I am perceived. It's like a mirror that doesn't just reflect—it distorts. I start questioning everything about myself: Am I enough? Do I fit in? Could I ever be like them?
I tell myself social media is fake. People carefully craft their online lives, showing only the best parts, hiding the struggles, and presenting a version of themselves they want others to see. And yet, even with this knowledge, I can't help but feel inadequate.
Sometimes I wonder if this is just part of being 17—this constant push and pull between who I am and who I think I should be. My friends seem to have it all figured out, or at least they appear to. They navigate social situations with ease, build relationships effortlessly, and seem comfortable in their own skin. Meanwhile, I'm here questioning every interaction, analyzing every conversation, and feeling like an outsider looking in.
It's not just about comparing myself to others—it's about the nagging thought that I'm fundamentally "not enough." That I'm not suitable for relationships, not the kind of person someone would want to spend time with. These thoughts aren't rational; they're loud whispers in my mind that social media seems to amplify.
I guess part of the problem is that I feel like I'm hiding. I bury myself in my work, in the things I know, because I feel like I'd be boring to other people. I overthink everything, and sometimes that spirals into anxiety or even panic attacks. It's hard to talk about, but it's my reality. I see people living their "normal" lives, happy and carefree, and I just wish I could be like them.
When I was younger, I went through a major existential crisis. It changed me in ways I'm still trying to understand. Growing up in a Hindu family, I felt a need to explore beyond what I was taught. I started reading texts from other religions—the Quran, the Bible, and many others—searching for meaning. It was a journey that shaped me, but it's also something I've kept hidden.
If my family ever found out about that part of my life, they wouldn't understand. They'd probably laugh it off or be upset. To them, it would seem like a betrayal. But for me, it was a way to make sense of the world and my place in it. Even now, I feel like I'm still searching.
I want to be normal, but I can't seem to get there. Talking to people feels awkward and unnatural, and sometimes I feel like I'm locked in my own little world. I see my friends enjoying their lives to the fullest, and then I look at myself—alone in my room, stuck in my thoughts. It's hard not to feel empty.
I've always been okay with being alone. In fact, I find solace in it. There's a certain calm in solitude—a quiet space where I can think, reflect, and just be myself. I don't need the constant buzz of social interactions, the pressure to keep up with conversations, or the strain of trying to fit in. Alone, I am at peace.
And yet, there's a part of me that aches. It's not a loud ache, more like a quiet whisper I can't ignore. Deep inside, I sometimes wish I could be "normal"—whatever that means. I see others talking, laughing, forming bonds effortlessly, and I wonder: Why does this feel so hard for me?
The funny thing is, when I do connect with people—usually through coding communities or online forums—it feels natural. Maybe because we're bonding over shared interests rather than forced small talk. These connections feel real, meaningful. But then I wonder: is this enough? Am I missing out on something by not having those "normal" teenage experiences?
It's a paradox I live with. I cherish my solitude; it's where I feel most at ease. But at the same time, there's a longing to connect, to share, to be seen. It's not that I want to change who I am. I like who I am. It's just… sometimes it feels like I'm watching life happen from the outside, unable to join in.
I wish I could explain this to people, but how do you describe a feeling that contradicts itself? How do you explain that you're content being alone but still feel the pang of not belonging? Most wouldn't understand, and that's okay. Maybe I don't need them to.
I don't know where this journey online will take me, but I'm trying to make sense of it all, one step at a time.